


The Absolution of Dean Winchester

by DarknessBound



Category: Supernatural, The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angelic Grace as Lube (Supernatural), BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bratty Dean Winchester, Demons, Eventual Happy Ending, Frottage, Hunter Dean Winchester, Inmate Dean Winchester, Inmate Jaskier Morningstar, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Dean/Cas, POV Dean Winchester, Prison, Prison Guard Castiel, Prison Nurse Ares Montague, Prison Sex, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Solitary Confinement, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Whump, Wing Kink, prison fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessBound/pseuds/DarknessBound
Summary: Finally arrested for crimes he thought he'd covered up, Dean gets used and abused by just about everyone from the agent that arrested him to the prisoners he's locked up with. He even kinda likes it until he's transferred to a different cell block for his own protection and meets a guard that changes everything.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Billy Butcher, Dean Winchester/Frenchie, Dean Winchester/Other(s), Jaskier Morningstar/Ares Montague, Victor Henriksen/Dean Winchester
Comments: 36
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CeliPuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeliPuff/gifts).



> Disclaimers: this is a fictional world where STD’s don't exist and the prison system works however I want it to. This started as a one-shot Christmas present for CeliPuff because she watched Folsom Prison Blues and wanted a little Dean-as-a-prison-bitch action and therefore so did I, and it spiraled from there with me giving little consideration to real-world accuracy. Do try to enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> There are definite dark elements here, but I assure you that Cas does not hurt Dean in any way, shape or form. 
> 
> Also, there are two characters in here that will look like OC's, and they are, they're just not mine. CeliPuff and Ketch22 are writing an original novel that I've been devouring, and their main characters make a sneak appearance here because I just couldn't help myself. Credit for Azrian and Kato go to them.
> 
> Thanks to I_Am_The_Blue_Sunshine for their beta skills yet again!

Special Agent Henriksen paces around the interrogation table, glancing down at the gorgeous little miscreant chained to it. “Been huntin' you for a long time, boy. Didn't think you could run from me forever now, did you?”

“Ehh, it was worth a shot. Got the feelin’ you enjoyed being behind me.” Dean winks up at him, grinning like the little shit he is. 

Huffing a laugh, Henriksen stops and leans down to whisper in his ear. “Don't tempt me. See, that isn't two way glass. Had this room built just for people like you, Winchester. What happens in here stays in here.”

“Oookay. That a promise or a threat?” Dean jerks his head back to hit Hendrikson in the jaw, then laughs at the shocked “ _oof”_ he earns. 

A moment later, Dean's face is being shoved against the cold metal. “I heard you like it rough, but that? That was beneath you.”

“Sounds like you finally heard something right. That feel good? Know it’s rare for you to have your facts straight.” Dean grunts against the table, fighting his grip just to test him. “Didn’t catch that last part, you want to be beneath me?”

He laughs, cold and low. “Murder. Identity theft, credit card fraud. Grave desecration. What's that last one about, anyway? Seems like a lotta work to dig up a grave just to get your rocks off on some old lady bones.” 

The hand pinning him down releases, and Henriksen sits on the edge of the table. Dean cracks his neck and glances up. “You wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t believe the truth if it slapped you in the face. Not sure if you seen me, but gettin’ my rocks off has never been a problem.”

“See, I thought you might say that. Doesn’t leave me with many options, though, now does it? Got a trail of bodies behind you so long I need a telescope to see the whole damn thing.” He reaches over, gripping Dean’s chin and puffing out his lips as he sizes him up. “They're gonna make short work of you in there.” 

“Think so? Sounds kinky. Don’t go gettin my hopes up now,” Dean says with a wink. 

Henriksen chuckles, but it abruptly cuts off. “Stand up. Now.”

_“You_ stand up,” Dean retorts, even though he’s already standing by the time the words come out.

“See, you _can_ be good. Still a pain in the ass, but... I think maybe it's time I return that particular favor.” He trails his fingers along Dean's shoulders and down his side, then slides his hand down his pants to palm him as their bodies press together. “I wasn't gonna do this, but I'm thinkin' maybe it's smart to get in here before the guys in prison use your pretty ass up. What do you think?” he asks as squeezes his cock through his boxers. “Maybe a little practice run before you hit the big leagues?”

Dean’s body is responding before he can stop it. He tugs on his handcuffs with a grunt, his cock twitching in the agent’s hand. “How about you take these cuffs off so we can do it right, boss?”

“Nice try. I don't really need you to do much of anything but bend over, so... bend over.” He pushes him down, then pops the button on Dean's jeans and exposes his ass. “I've had dreams about this ass, Winchester. Nightmares, really —” he splits open his cheeks and spits on his hole — “Hope you don't mind... forgot to pack the lube today. Oops.” 

A long, slick finger slides in, and Dean grunts as he pulls on the restraints, but he’s grinning in spite of himself. “Dreamin’ bout this ass, huh?”

“I dream about a lotta things that piss me off, don't flatter yourself. I sure won't.” Henriksen works him open quickly and almost brutally, hissing when he doesn't get what he wants fast enough. With three fingers buried deep and twisting, he reaches around to stroke Dean. “You ever been fucked with your own come before, Dean?”

“Nah... haven’t had the pleasure. Fuck…” Dean bites his lip, giving in to the pleasure. He’s leaking in Henriksen’s hand, rutting into it with the small space he has. “I dunno if you can handle this ass, Henny. Little outta your league,” he eggs him on. 

“Please. Call me Victor. You're gonna have to learn to loosen up, pretty boy. Your cellmates, now they won't be as nice as me. Gonna end up tearin’ somethin' in there.” He strokes him faster, reaching his other hand up to wrap around Dean’s throat and Dean groans at the emptiness in his ass. “You’re gonna come in my fist and I'm gonna take this tight little ass of yours right here, you understand? Call it reparations for all the time I spent runnin’ all over this country lookin’ for you.”

Dean's already on the edge, he can't help it. “Y-yeah... fuck... squeeze a little harder!” 

“Ahh, hell. Here's me thinkin' you were gonna put up a fight. You want this, don't you, Dean?” He twists his hand and tightens his grip around Dean's throat. “A guy like you, of course you love bein' used. What goes around comes around, huh?” He presses his mouth to Dean's ear and whispers: “Gonna have to come for me if you want my cock, boy.” 

“Sonofabitch, Victor,” Dean grunts, just before releasing into his fist with a long, drawn-out moan. 

Henriksen brings his messy hand to Dean’s ass and shoves his fingers in, pushing Dean’s come inside his body. “Now if only you behaved this well outside of this room, we wouldn't be here.” The rest of Dean’s spend ends up on his cock and he nudges in, groaning at the tight squeeze. “Ahh, fuck. You always got that game face on, but I knew there was a little slut hidden somewhere under all that flannel.” 

“Y’got me, big guy. How about you shut the fuck up and teach me a lesson, huh?” Dean grips the bar he’s cuffed to and tosses his ass back, huffing a deep laugh at the burn.

Victor’s hips snap so hard Dean’s own slam against the side of the metal table. He shoves him down until his neck is pressing into the bar, and a broad, huge hand covers his mouth. “That's about enough outta you. Look on the bright side, Dean. You'll be heading back to your cell filled with enough come you'll be able to handle Tiny… and I promise you, the nickname isn't literal.” 

He stuffs two fingers between Dean’s teeth to keep him silent as he hammers in, that thick cock splitting him open so completely that he probably couldn't have said much, anyway. 

Dean’s drooling around his hand and he’s hard again, groaning loudly as he slides his tongue between those digits and sucks. He couldn’t use words if he tried, couldn’t even think a full sentence. He’s never been so used before, and he shivers when he realizes just how much it does for him. 

“I see you, Dean,” Victor growls out. “Yeah, I had a feeling you'd like this, getting stuffed with your own come and fucked like a whore. Surprised I didn't get you on that too, honestly.” He changes the angle, hitting Dean's sweet spot over and over again. “Gonna come for me again, pretty boy?”

When Dean doesn't immediately respond, he moves his fingers, smacking Dean's cheek. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Unngh!” Dean grunts, his eyelids slamming shut. “Ye— fuck yeah.”

“You'll address me as ‘Sir’, try again.” Victor pulls out, letting his leaking, pulsing cock drag over Dean's hole. “Say ‘yes, Sir.’”

“Fuck!” Dean growls, shoving back in search of his cock. “Goddamnit! Yes, Sir! C’mon!”

He gets what he wants after a hard smack to his ass. Victor slams back in, stroking Dean in time with his brutal thrusts. “Better. Not great, but I knew better. Now be a good little whore and come for me, I wanna feel this ass strangling my cock.”

“You’re a fuckin asshole. Fuck me harder... Sir.” Dean closes his eyes, focusing on the assault to his prostate and his cock his Victor’s hand.

“That's my pretty boy.” He grips Dean's throat again and pulls him up, twisting the hand on his cock as he fucks him deep. 

“Oh go—d! Gonna— come!!” Dean leans into his hand, coming soon after all over the floor under the table. 

Victor just keeps fucking him until Dean’s a boneless, babbling mess, then finally fills him up with a low growl and leaves fingertip-shaped bruises on his hips. He pulls out, sliding two fingers back into Dean to play with the mix of come. “Got you all used up already, but I gotta say, Dean… that second one was a nice touch.”

Dean holds up a breathless thumbs up, his head rolling on his shoulders. “Never—” he takes a breath — “never thought you could get me off once, let alone twice.”

“You underestimated me. Didn't think I'd catch you, either. Get used to it, Winchester. The guys where you're goin’ are used to livin’ off snacks, and you're a whole ass meal.” Victor fixes his pants and straightens his tie. “See you at the sentencing. It's gonna be the best day of my life.” 

~~~~

The trial turns out to be a joke. His lawyers — a spineless twink named Hughie Campbell and a gorgeous-yet-Bible-thumping broad called Annie January — can't be more than a couple of years older than Dean is himself, and since he's only 26… they don't exactly inspire confidence. The combination strike fear into absolutely no one and Dean’s convinced he's going away for life — but the prosecution fails to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he murdered that chick in St. Louis, so the worst of his charges is taken off the table. Still, the rest of it is bad enough, and Annie bats her doey, stupid eyes at Dean as she tells him God’s judgment will be worse than whatever the court throws at him. _Yeah right, lady. Get a damn grip._

In the end, the judge takes pity on Dean and only gives him ten years — which, for four counts of grave desecration, two counts of identity theft and two counts of felony credit card fraud, he got off damn lucky. He’d been looking at the death penalty when that murder charge was brought up. 

He's taken straight from the courthouse to intake, and stripped of the whole three possessions he still has to his name. Despite how vehemently he asks anyone and everyone that comes near him, though… no one will tell him what's happening to his car. _That's_ a worse punishment than what the court handed him, not whatever some stupid, make-believe higher power has in store for him. 

His cellmate isn't there when Dean’s shoved inside of it to settle in, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. There aren't any posters on the walls or weird, toothbrush-shiv graffiti marks, either, so he doesn't honestly have a damn clue what his cellmate is gonna be like as he makes his bed and checks out the room. All in all, it's really not bad. The toilet isn't in its own room but it _is_ mostly hidden by a small bookshelf, which is better than he anticipated. 

After that, he's given a quick tour. There's a small common area with a tv and a couple of couches, and he laughs to himself when he sees the _extremely_ vulgar note taped to the fridge warning people against eating or drinking something they didn't buy. 

The guard doesn't share his amusement. 

Outside, the prison yard looks exactly like he thought it would. A basketball court, a few picnic tables, and a shitload of concrete and metal. The sun beats down directly in his face and he shields his eyes to try and see out past the fence and how far he'd have to run to reach freedom — he already knows he won't make it in this place a full ten years. 

“Oye!” the guard snaps. “Don’t even think about it, ya cunt. Move along.” 

Dean smiles innocently. “Just enjoyin’ the view, pal. Wouldn't dream of it.”

Unamused, the grizzly bear pushes Dean back toward the door. “It’s chow time.”

The food ends up being every bit as shitty as he feared it would be, and the lack of pie makes him want to bust out this instant. No way he goes a full decade without pie… he’d rather hang himself with his 100 thread count bedsheets. 

Despite keeping his eyes down and minding his own damn business like he heard he was supposed to, Dean barely gets through his dinner before he hears a low voice behind him. 

“Look what we have here. Fresh meat.”

He expected this, and honestly, he hasn’t been laid since Special Agent Douchebag bent him over that interrogation table, so he’s definitely on board — still has to play hard to get, though. He doesn't have a single intention on making this easy for any of them. “You can’t afford this cut of meat, buddy. Heard there’s bologna a few cells down, more your speed,” Dean says with a wink, then clicks his tongue as he gets up to face the man. 

He's a damn giant, is what he is. Bright blue eyes and a scruffy, graying beard, and muscles for days. Next to that Australian — or is he British? — hunk of a guard he just left, this guy is easily the best thing Dean’s seen yet. 

The giant chuckles, gallic shrugging. “Funny. Name's Benny. And brotha, look around you. I'm the best you're gonna get in this block.”

_Cajun? Seriously? Everybody around here got a hot-ass accent?_ Dean sniffles and checks him out. “I’m Dean, and you’re right about that, Benny. Gonna make it worth my while? Been craving a Twinkie for days.”

“Oh, c’mon, now, chere. I don't pay for shit around these parts… I take it. How do you think I landed here in the first place?” Benny stands, reaching over to cup Dean’s chin. “Drop the soap, don't drop it, doesn’t make a lick of difference. I'll have you on your knees before lights out one way or the other. Take care, now. I'll be seein’ you soon… and good luck findin’ that Twinkie.” 

Benny walks away to talk to a guard, and a skinny dude comes over and sits next to him to take his place. “Winchester, right? I'm Fitzgerald, but if you promise not to steal my cookies, you can call me Garth.” 

_So that's a no on the accents, then. Damn._ “Alright.” Dean’s still frowning, a little annoyed that arrangement didn’t work out how he hoped. But he isn’t about to give up yet — someone will take that deal eventually, and in the meantime, he’s got a little fight on his hands. “These guys threaten you daily, too?”

“Not the way they're threatening you. They say I'm too skinny, but... no matter how much I eat, I just never seem to gain any weight.” Garth smiles and pats his stomach, but jerks his head back toward Benny. “If you want to avoid getting threatened, he's your guy. Been in here for a dime already, and they say every few years, he picks a toy. No one ever fucks with Big Ben's toy.”

“You sayin’ I’m his next toy?” Dean wonders if that means he’d just have to deal with the one guy, and then wonders if that’s better than the alternative.

Garth shrugs. “I'm saying you _can_ be, if he likes you well enough. He's a good dude... for being who he is. A lot better than some of the others, that's for sure.” His eyes travel to a slightly older man. “That's Ishim. He's... well, you'd just better steer clear of him.”

Dean looks over and Ishim is already eyeing him. “Shit. Alright... what else can you tell me?”

“I probably said too much already.” He smiles apologetically. “You seem like you can handle yourself in a fight, you should be fine.” Before Garth can say anything else, he notices Ishim glaring at him and swallows thickly, then stands up abruptly. “I'll see you around, Winchester.” 

“Great... friggin awesome.” Dean stands after Garth bolts and walks to lean against the wall, his eyes taking in his new home. _Thought there’d be more hot dudes._

Not two minutes later, Ishim is standing in front of him. “Heard you'll trade that sweet ass of yours for Twinkies. That true?”

“Damn. Like high school in here, huh?” Dean stands taller and sees he’s much bigger than Ishim. “Nah, that was a one time offer, guy.”

Ishim straightens up and smirks, nodding to one of his extremely huge, henchman friends. “Think maybe we should give him a tour, shouldn't we? Really welcome him to Cellblock _D?”_

The oaf behind him cracks his knuckles like they're in some kind of cartoon and pushes Dean between the shoulders. “Walk.”

“Kinda comfy right here. No thanks.” But he pushes again and Dean’s feet are moving, his heart pounding in his chest. He could swing now — maybe get solitary for a day or something — but it’s a temporary fix for a ten year problem. He sees everyone watching, everyone knows what’s about to happen — so he starts walking normal like it isn’t a big deal. _It's only gonna be a big deal if I'm a little bitch about it… not on my fuckin’ life, pal._

Ishim sucks his teeth like a creep as they exit the cafeteria and head toward the laundry room. “Should've just taken the Twinkie… things would've gone a lot smoother for you.” 

When they get through the doors, the oaf stands guard and crosses his arms as Ishim unzips his jumpsuit. “It's your first day, I'll show you a little mercy. Pick a hole… that pretty mouth, or that prettier ass?”

“If I pick mouth and suck you good, can we renegotiate that Twinkie deal?” Dean wipes the side of his lip and looks down at his cock. 

A feral smile spreads across Ishim's face. “Well, it'll certainly help convince me to reopen negotiations. Get on your knees. Oh, and... if you bite me, my friend here will see to it that you'll be fed through a straw for the duration of your stay here. Understood?” He walks forward, jacking himself off. 

“Yup. Loud and clear. No teeth.” Dean clenches his hands and drops down, licking his lips and parting them. Up close, it really isn’t a pretty cock, but he barely gets a chance to see it before it's being shoved in his mouth. 

Ishim hisses as he thrusts forward, tugging on Dean's hair to bring him closer. “That's it... use that tongue, boy. Don't make me do all the work.”

Dean almost smiles at its size. It hardly reaches the back of his tongue, so it’s easy to hollow his cheeks and slide his tongue up and down until Ishim falls apart above him. 

“Shit, you weren't kidding. Sucked a lot of cocks before, huh?” He snaps his hips a little faster as his breathing speeds up, and all Dean has to do is meet his eyes for him to slide out and start stroking himself above Dean’s face. “Right there, open wide. Gonna watch it paint that pretty fucking mouth…” 

He obeys, staring up at him with his tongue out and as soon he winks up at Ishim, he comes with a grunt. It spurts all over Dean's face as Ishim pulls his hair a little harder, then shoves back into his mouth until he's empty. 

As Ishim fixes his pants after, he chuckles softly. “The Twinkie deal was for your ass. You decide to give that up, you can have as many Twinkies as you can handle. If not, well... I'll just bring my friend along again next time, and maybe I'll let him have your mouth while I help myself to your ass.”

Dean stands, glad he only chubbed up a little from that and that it isn't visible for Ishim. “Alright. And how long do I have to decide?”

“Until I decide I wanna use you to get off again.” He nods toward the towels and mutters as he turns to leave, “Clean yourself up, you look like a whore.”

He wipes down his face and discards the towel, then sits there in the laundry room a while. It isn’t smart; anyone could just walk in... but he needs a moment to think about whether being someone’s bitch in prison is worth it or not. 

And right now, he's thinking maybe it is. 

~~~~

Luckily for Dean, no one else visits him in the laundry room. He ends up staying there until it's time for work detail to come in and sneaks out quietly before he can get caught, then makes his way to the showers. He'd been excited for this part until he'd actually gotten here — the thought of a bunch of hardened criminals jacking off right in front of him was hot as shit, but he realizes now that's probably not how things are gonna go down at all. _Startin’ to think all those prison pornos I watched lied to me._

He gets more than a few knowing looks on his way to the shower block. Every damn one of them knows he just had to blow his way out of a situation, but Dean keeps his head held high as he strips down and gets under the water.

Doesn’t mean he's not nervous as hell, though. 

Benny approaches him first, rubbing shitty, prison-issue soap all over his chest as his giant cock swings heavy between his massive thighs. “You look a like a deer in the headlights, chere. Somebody round here botherin’ you?”

Dean’s eyes widen at his size, but he stands straighter and looks around for a guard. His stomach sinks when the only one present slips from the showers without a word. _Great. Guess that’s that._ “Nah. No one was botherin’ me.” Around them, a lot of others are watching, and most of their cocks are hard like they’re about to get off watching him get raped. 

“Relax, brotha. Pretty little thing like you... you'll come to me willingly soon enough.” But instead of moving on, he steps behind Dean. Benny chuckles as he reaches around him for the shampoo, then squirts some in his hand and starts rubbing it into Dean's hair. “Rough first day?”

“You can say that…” Dean’s far from relaxed, but he lets Benny do what he wants. He's really not trying to get his ass kicked while he’s naked and wet.

Sure enough, a couple of the guys close to them start playing with themselves as they watch, and Dean keeps waiting to get shoved against the wall. When Benny's fat cock presses between his cheeks, Dean freezes, still not sure if he’s just being tested right now or if it’s actually happening. “Happy to see me or is that just always a monster?”

“Can't it be both?” Benny ruts against him and brings a hand up to Dean's neck to squeeze, then huffs a quiet laugh as he pulls back and smacks Dean's ass on his way out. “Welcome home, chere. Enjoy your evening.”

He flinches at the slap and forces a laugh, rinsing everything off and grabbing a towel to dry off before someone else can sneak up on him. He rushes back to his cell and stares at the bare walls with a sigh. “Home sweet home.” He lays down, eyes glued on the door. 

Eventually, exhaustion wins out over any sense of self-preservation and he gets a couple of hours of sleep before the breakfast alarm goes off. 

When his eyes shoot open, he groans. There were a few moments where he thought maybe this was all a bad dream, but when he wakes with his back stiff on the thin-ass mattress, he knows it’s real. Dean washes up and goes to chow, shoveling it down before someone can steal it and chugging the cup of water.

“Oye, Winchester,” the guard from his tour says as he approaches. “Yer work detail’s come in. Yer on landscapin’ duty. You've got one hour before you've got to report outside. Don't be late.”

Not wanting to piss him off, Dean nods and heads around him to go back to his cell, but runs into Garth on the way out. “Hey, what’s with Kangaroo Jack over there? Looks like a guard but keeps bossin’ me around.”

Garth clears his throat and looks a little uncomfortable. “Oh, him? That's Butcher. If you ask me, he likes this job a little too much.”

“Butcher? That his real name?” Dean takes another look at him and lets out an impressed _“huh”_ when he takes in the muscles popping through his shirt. 

“Nah. All the guards have nicknames around here. We call him Butcher because he used to be one, but apparently got tired of beating up dead animals and came here to pick on live humans, instead.” 

“Yeah? I’ll try and stay on his good side, then. Gettin’ butchered isn't exactly a part of my ten year plan. Thanks.” He walks away without asking about any of the others, knowing Garth doesn’t really want to be seen with him, anyway. 

Dean goes into his cell to change into his white shirt and orange pants for outside, and he _nearly_ gets his ass covered up before he hears whistling. 

“Whoo! What an ass,” the inmate yells. “Bend over for me, sweet thing, I need some new spank bank material.”

One of the other guards kicks the guy in the back of the knee. “You’re deesgusting, get zee fuck out of ‘ere.” He stops in the doorway as the inmate takes off and eyes Dean. “Ee’s not wrong, though. You ever need… mmm…. _protection,_ you come and find Frenchie, oui?” 

Dean wonders who the hell this little guy is protecting, but he learned a long time ago not to judge a book by it’s cover. “Got a few of those offers so far, thanks.”

“Oui, but none as good as mine. I assure you.” He winks, disappearing and yelling after the inmate that ran away. 

Chuckling and mildly interested in that, Dean finishes dressing and hits the bathroom before walking outside. He still has a little time, but the sun feels so good on his skin that he closes his eyes with a small smile on his lips.

He jumps when Ishim sneaks up behind him. “See you pulled the long straw. Come with me, it's time to get to work.”

Dean hesitates, standing there for a few more moments and looking around to see where the guards are — but when all he sees is Butcher, he forces his feet to move and follows Ishim. 

For the first couple hours, they really do work. Part of the exterior of the prison needed painted and the small, pathetic-looking garden needed dug up and replanted. When they finish with that, Ishim wipes dirt from his brow and points his small, dull rake at Dean's chest. “Shed. Now. You and I have other business to attend to.”

He's about to say no when that same, massive friend of Ishim’s steps up beside him. “Shed's that way,” he grunts. 

The last thing Dean wants is to suck his nasty cock again, so he stays against his better judgement. “It's a nice day outside. We can talk here.”

“Tiny... handle this, please.”

“I said... shed's that way.” The behemoth shoves Dean so hard he falls over, hitting the concrete. 

He jumps up as fast as possible, not wanting anyone to see him on the ground and dusts himself off. “When’d you become his bitch, Tiny?”

Ishim tsks. “I'm technically the crew captain here. It would be a shame if I had to report back and say you were being uncooperative on your first day. You're still on the clock.”

“I _did_ all my fucking work.” Dean’s fists clench but he starts walking, not wanting to deal with fucking Butcher, too. “I'm not sucking you off again.”

The shed shuts the shed door behind them, casting them into shadow, but not complete darkness. “I've had better, anyway. But we're not here to talk about your subpar blowjob skills. I made you an offer. You can either give that ass to me willingly and you'll be rewarded with... what was it that you wanted? Twinkies? Those. And if not, I'll just take it anyway. So—” he stalks forward — “what will it be?”

His heart is pounding in his chest as he stands there, trying to think of some way out of this. _Shoulda fought while I friggin could. Where the fuck is Butcher or Benny when you need ‘em? Hell, even Frenchie._ “Nah... you can keep the Twinkies. Lil’ too sugary for me.” He offers a grin, though it doesn't reach his eyes. 

After a single nod from Ishim, Tiny grips Dean by the back of the neck and bends him over the toolbench. “This could've been fun for both of us, but now… it'll just be fun for me. And maybe Tiny,” Ishim adds as Tiny shoves down Dean’s pants. 

The door flies open before Dean’s asshole can even clench and Butcher takes a few, thunderous steps in. “Ishim, you stupid little cunt. Get out’a my sight.”

Ishim turns tail almost instantly. “He asked for it. Offered to sell himself to m—” 

_Thwack._

“Ow! Fu—” Ishim grabs his chin and darts out of the shed, Tiny right behind him. 

The door swings shut once more as Butcher checks out his knuckles with a satisfied hum, then fixes his eyes on Dean’s ass. “Didn’t even break the skin.” 

Dean stands, trying to right his pants, but he can see the way Butcher is looking at him. “Thanks for that.”

Butcher steps forward, shaking his head. “Keep 'em down, kid. I didn't save ya out'a the goodness of me heart. Ass like that doesn't walk in 'ere often.”

_Sonofabitch... at least he’s better looking._ “Shit…” Dean sighs and pulls them down again, his heart hammering in his chest as he bends over. “So uh... you won’t mind if i get off too, right?” 

“I prefer it.” He pulls out a small bottle of lube and starts fingering him. “Tight, ain't ya?”

“Yup. Been a— fuck... been a while. You got some fatass fingers, Butch.” Dean closes his eyes and wonders if he’ll have a single encounter here that he doesn't have to get on board with _after_ it's already started. “C’mon, big guy, don’t let me down and go easy.” He reaches down and grips his slowly chubbing cock as Butcher shoves in a third finger. 

A rough, callused hand replaces Dean’s own as Butcher brushes the tip of his prostate and starts to stroke him. “Be a good lad and make a little bitah noise fer me.” 

He grunts whether he wants to or not and braces his hands, letting Butcher take over so he can focus on the pleasure. Soon, his cock is hard in Butcher’s hand and Dean is moaning, pushing back onto his fingers. “Let me have it, fuck... c’mon.”

“Atta boy.” Butcher pulls his fingers out and shoves his cock in without warning, tugging Dean up until their bodies are flush. “Ahh, fuckin' 'ell, knew this ass would be top notch.”

“Goddamnit... and I knew you’d have a fat cock.” Dean moans at how full he is and pushes back, then gets bent roughly over the tool bench as Butcher lengthens his thrusts.

Each brutal snap causes the tools on top to rattle and the table slams against the shed wall hard enough to shake the glass. It actually has Dean more turned on than he’s been in months. His cock throbs and leaks so he reaches down to jack off, keeping pace with each brutal thrust. “Fuck... right there... ah, shit.”

Butcher does nothing but grunt as those thrusts somehow become harder. His hands slide down until he's gripping Dean’s thighs and lifting him clear off his feet. 

“Ah, fuck... Butc— I’m—” Dean moans loudly just before he comes all over that tool bench, sighing a laugh when he finishes. “Goddamn!”

The guard mutters something under his breath as his cock pulses and he fills up Dean's ass, humping him until he finally empties. He pulls out with a growl and squeezes Dean's ass, then smacks it hard enough to make the skin jump. “That's more like it.”

“You’re tellin’ me. Don’t get used to it. You caught me in a horny mood. Just didn’t want that creep,” Dean lies. The truth is, that was the best he's felt in years — but this asshole guard doesn’t need the ego boost. 

Butcher scoffs, but snatches a clean rag from a nearby table and tosses it to him. “Well, ‘ave it yer way, then. Might put some ice on that before lights out.”

“Nah, I’m a big boy. Thanks.” Dean cleans up and then moves to walk past him, blushing when he sees a few inmates around the shed. “Enjoy the friggin show?”

Again, he's rewarded with a handful of whistles and catcalls that don't stop until Butcher threatens them.

He feels kinda low — not that he’d show anyone — and he walks with his head as high as he can. As far as fucks go, it wasn’t bad. The orgasm was even better than with Henriksen, but he wonders how many more assholes are going to try and fuck him. He thinks of Benny’s offer, but quickly pushes it away and gets back to work, ignoring Ishim’s angry glares.

~~~~

When Dean returns to his cell, he's limping just a little from the abuse his ass just took. More than anything, he just wants some damn peace and quiet — but there's yet _another_ giant waiting to greet him when he steps in. This one looks like he could be gorgeous with all that wavy blond hair and hard muscle, but his face is beat to hell and one eye's half swollen shut. 

“Hey. You must be Dean,” he says as he holds out a bandaged hand. “I'm Jask. Jask Morningstar. Guess we're cellmates.”

“Guess so.” Dean shakes his hand but drops it quickly. “You alright?” He sits on his bed with a flinch, eyeing his new cellmate’s injuries. “Guard or inmate?”

Jask chuckles. “Both, actually. This fucker named Ashton clocked me trying to start a fight and Mother’s Milk got involved. Somehow, it became my damn fault and I got sent to solitary for three days.”

“Sounds shitty. How long you been in here? Think it’s obvious I’m new,” Dean says with a bitter laugh. 

“Bout a year and a half, give or take. But that's good news for me, means I'm out soon.” He grins, but then winces and picks at one of his wounds. “Tell ya what, I won't ask you what you did if you don't ask me.”

Dean chuckles at that. “Deal. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.” He lays back on his bed with a grunt. “Fuck... wait, am I in your bed or somethin’?”

“Who cares? They're equally shitty. Sleep wherever you want, just don't be surprised if I try to spoon you in the middle of the night.” 

“I'm a little sore back there, so don’t try anything just yet,” Dean says with an amused grin.

Jask huffs. “Hate to break your heart, but I won't be trying anything. Let's just say I've got someone waiting for me. Promised him I'd keep it in my pants, but he knows what a baby I am. Platonic cuddling is all you'll get from me.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Seems like you've already met the horny fuckers here, anyway.”

“Yeah. Been a rough couple days. That’s good for you though, man... none of these assholes try and... y’know…?” _Treat you like you're a piece of meat?_

“Nah.” Jask sits forward and adjusts the bandage. “Told everyone I have IBS… they left me alone _real_ quick. I double up on beans at dinnertime and let a few rip at opportune moments, no one comes near me. Sorry in advance, roomie.” The laugh he lets out is contagious, and Dean joins in, finally feeling a little bit better. 

“Man, kinda wish I thought of that. Sucks the hottest guy here is taken though, woulda preferred you to anyone else here.” 

“You think I'm hot now, wait till you see me when I'm healed.” Jask flops back and glances over at him. “So who was it?”

“Uh... which time?” Dean attempts to joke, but he can’t even fake a smile. “Butcher earlier... after stopping Ishim. Some rescue, eh?”

Jask grimaces. “Yikes. I mean, hey... Butcher's kinda rough, but he's mostly harmless. You say no? From what I heard, he doesn't touch the ones that say no. Ishim's a fucking creep, though. Don't think he'd care either way.”

“Guess I need to use my words, then. And nah, Ishim don’t care. Definitely told _that_ asshat no. It wasn’t so bad, I got off for the first time in a while so…” he trails off with a gallic shrug. 

After a moment, Jask gets up and digs under one of the books on the bottom shelf until he's pulling out a small bag of pills and tossing them to Dean. “Here, take a couple of these. They're just those hybrid Advil things, nothing illegal or fishy. I uh… got a connection in the medical ward,” he says with a smirk. 

Dean takes them in the sink and lays back down. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back somehow.”

The pills disappear under the same book. “Don't sweat it. I don't really need much, and like I said... I won't be here much longer. Just gotta keep my nose clean for the next few months and I'm out.”

“Good for you, man. I’m lookin’ at like ten, but... maybe good behavior can get me out a little sooner. Still... in it for the long haul.”

Jask glances over with a concerned expression. “You're not gonna last. If I were you, I'd get on the good sides of Butcher, Benny, Frenchie… Kimiko. But good luck with her, crazy woman has never uttered a damn word to anyone. But she throat punched some guy the first week I was here for fucking with Fitzgerald and _he_ hasn't uttered a word since, either.” 

“Benny?” Dean looks over to meet his eyes. “He's uh... he’s offerin’.” He licks his lips nervously. “You sayin’ I should be his bitch...?”

“Yeah, I am. He won't touch you without your permission and he'll kick the living fuck out of anyone else that tries.” Jask lowers his voice. “Hell, if I wasn't otherwise taken and not all that into bottoming, _I'd_ have been his bitch. He's the only one around here people are actually scared of, 'cept maybe Tiny and the Angel of Thursday.”

“The what of Thursday? Angel? People are scared of an angel? Sounds ass backwards.” Dean chuckles at that. “Who am I to talk about ass backwards?”

Jask shrugs, grabbing a stress ball and tossing it against the wall over Dean’s head. “All I know is that he works over in Absolution Row, and he's far from an angel.”

He hasn’t even seen this so-called angel, and he has a feeling he wouldn’t want to. “So... my best bet is Benny. And if I try and go it alone…”

“You can take your chances,” Jask replies. “But I wouldn't advise it. You've been here, what... two days? Multiply that by ten years and tell me if you think you can go it alone. Benny's a lifer. He's not going anywhere.”

Dean gets quiet for a while, thinking about what that would look like. “I gotta like... hold his pocket and shit?”

Jask barks a loud laugh that echoes off the walls. “No, no. I think people around here use the word "toy" a little loosely. He just wants company, honestly. Someone that isn't gonna betray him and is half decent in bed. Can you blame him?”

“Not really, no... you his salesman or somethin? Makin’ it sound pretty damn good, buddy.”

A weird look crosses his face. “Yeah, maybe a little. He uh... he helped somebody I care about out in a big way a few months back. Figure if I can help you both by pimping you out, then… why not?” Jask asks, shrugging it off as he tosses the ball again. 

“Well, alright then. I’ll think about it.” Dean rubs at his temples with a sigh. “You know I hadn’t even come out of the damn closet before I came here? Now my ass is being tossed around like a friggin hot potato.”

Jask snorts, then goes silent as a couple of inmates walk by. “Don't say that too loud, you think it's bad now… they get the hint you haven't always loved being stuffed full of cock, they’ll start doing it just for the power trip.”

“Good to know. Thanks for all the ass advice.” Dean sits up and then stands. “Hungry?”

The look he gives Dean suggests he's _always_ hungry. “Kitchen should be open for dinner, if we hurry up we can finish before any of your friends arrive,” he teases. 

_“Your_ friends. Not my friggin friends.” Dean rolls his eyes and starts walking that way, a small limp in his step. “Sure you wanna be seen with me? Garth won’t even sit at the same table.”

Jask purses his lips. “Little twerp is scared of his own shadow. He’ll be fine now that I'm back, you'll see.”

Sure enough, the second Garth spots them come in, he scoots to make room at his table. Not like anyone else was sitting with him, anyway, but still. They get their food and Jask nudges Dean that direction. “Go on. Guess I better walk behind you before someone else trips and falls into your ass.”

“You always a smart ass, Loreal?” Dean walks in front, chuckling until he sees Butcher. He looks down, trying not to flinch too hard when he sits. 

Garth's smile fades when he sees Dean's face, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he turns to Jask. “How was solitary this time?”

“Same as last time, and the time before that. Heard you were trying to avoid my cellmate here, Fitzy. What's that about?”

His face reddens. “I'm sorry about that. I'm... not very good with new people.”

“Not a big deal. Don’t gotta explain shit to me.” Dean starts eating, staring down at his plate and eating quickly. He looks around after a few bites and sees Benny, letting their eyes linger a little longer than he should and then looks away.

Jask reaches over to steal a piece of meat from Garth's tray and chews it with his mouth open. “Tax for being a twerp.” He smiles warmly, though, and Garth returns it.

Benny watches Dean from his table periodically after that, but once again gets up to talk to one of the guards. “Who’s the guard Benny is taking to?” Dean asks curiously. 

“Huh?” Jask looks over and chews slowly. “Oh. We call that one Mother's Milk... MM for short.”

“Oh. Heard his name a few times. Why’s he called that?”

He points his fork in that direction. “Cause he just looks like the type of dude that would still be suckin' his mom's tit, that's why. Hey, we're inmates... not poets.”

Dean actually barks a laugh at that — much louder than he intended to — but when Benny and MM look at him, he looks pointedly at his water with a grin still on his face. 

“Don't let them fool you, he knows why. Butcher loved his nickname and I’m pretty sure Frenchie made up his own.” 

“Frenchie is just self explanatory. Butcher... well, I already got that explanation but I didn't really need it there, either.” Dean stares at the table as his face darkens, realizing maybe it wasn't quite as “fine” of an experience as he made it out to be.

Jask nudges him. “Hey. Finish up. I'll talk to Butcher, okay? It won't happen again.”

“Nah. Don’t need you to do that. Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t. I can handle him. Like you said, I didn’t tell him no and it was better than the alternative. I’m gonna hit the head. See you guys in a bit.”

It doesn't look like either of them want him to go, but neither say anything as he heads out. For a moment, he thinks Benny's gonna follow him — but he doesn't, no one does. He ends up back in his cell after speeding through a half-clothed shower and doesn't realize until he gets there that he never finished his dinner, but when Jask shows up a few minutes later, he shoves a paper towel full of food in his hand. “Eat, or I'll force feed you.”

Dean rolls his eyes but eats, missing when he could just eat all day. He climbs into bed after brushing his teeth and stares up at the ceiling, saying quietly, “Thanks, J. Kinda nice to have someone around who doesn’t wanna fuck me.”

“I absolutely wanna spoon you, though... so... just sayin'. Don't be afraid to crawl over here.” He winks as the lights dim for the night but stays on his own side. 

“Night,” Dean says with a smile. He won't do it yet, but he'd be lying if he said it doesn’t sound nice. And with the way things have been going… he can use a little more of that. 

~~~~

The next week goes by without too many incidents. Butcher wanted a blow job and Benny washed his hair again, but at least his ass had had time to recover. 

After a while, the alarm waking him up for breakfast stops scaring the shit out of him, and he heads down alone, knowing Jask usually sleeps through breakfast so he doesn't die during work detail. 

There aren't many people down there this early, but the ones that _are_ there are assholes that Dean’s learned to steer clear of. He barely gets his food and sits down before some idiot named Max comes over and steals his only piece of toast. 

Dean shoves the rest of his tray away and stands up, instantly swinging on him and busting his nose. The toast falls to the ground and Dean nearly grabs it to shove down the dude’s throat, but he doesn’t want to turn his back for a second. 

Max knees him in the gut in an attempt to push him off and spits on him. “Fuck you, Winchester, get offa me!”

A growl rips through Dean’s chest as fury makes him see red. He can handle a lot of shit — but not that. He punches Max repeatedly until two sets of hands drag Dean backward and he slides across the floor, flailing and trying to get up. He gets tossed out in the hallway outside of the cafeteria as Kimiko runs back inside with her baton out, and Frenchie hauls Dean to his feet with a strength that surprises him. He shoves Dean’s chest and points to one of the vacant recreation rooms. “In, _now.”_

Dean wipes his face and nearly charges back in but instead turns and goes where Frenchie wants. He definitely doesn’t want him as an enemy. The moment the door swings shut, Frenchie backs him up against the wall. 

“What's amatter, Weenchester? Strung a leetle tightly all of a sudden?” 

His heavy accent actually has Dean relaxing slightly and chuckling. “Ween.” He chuckles again. “And uh, yeah. Am I supposed to just bend over and be everyone’s bitch out there? I don’t let people fuck with my food. I’m in jail, I’ve been forced to fuck and suck my way through — not to mention I haven’t gotten off in over a week. So yeah, _leetle_ strung, buddy.”

Frenchie clicks his tongue. “Oooh, now we're cracking jokes, eh? You're lucky eet was me 'oo pulled you out of zere and not someone else.”

“That so?” Dean looks him up and down and realizes he’s actually pretty damn hot, especially now that he’s felt his strength. “So no punishment from you, Frenchie?”

He seems to be having the same thought, because his eyes rove down Dean’s body and it genuinely looks like he wants to say yes for a moment. “Non,” he says, but doesn't back away. “I prefer my partners to be willing, you see. So much more satisfying that way.” 

“That’s a first.” Dean leans in, his eyes flashing slightly. “And what if I’m willing, boss?”

“Call me Frenchie.” He grips Dean's chin and pulls him into a kiss, backing him against the wall again. Dean’s dick instantly responds, his hands gripping at the guard’s waist as he ruts against him, showing him he’s hard. 

Frenchie licks into his mouth with a heated growl as he unzips Dean’s jumpsuit and slides a hand in to palm him, gripping his own cock through his pants with his other hand. 

“Fuck... take it out, Frenchie. C’mon.” Dean kisses him again as Frenchie fumbles with his belt, and his radio pops off and clatters to the ground. He ignores it, ignores everything but the way their cocks feel when they're finally fisted in Frenchie’s hand. 

The guard rolls his hips and braces his free hand above Dean’s head on the wall as he catches his tongue and sucks on it, stroking a little faster. 

It’s absolutely the best Dean has felt since... well, before prison. He moans, rutting into that amazing hand and leaking all over his fingers. 

Frenchie trails sloppy kisses across Dean’s jaw and down to his neck as he twists his hand, and his movements soon become staccatoed. “Give it to me, Dean.” 

“Ah, fuck…” Dean bares his neck as Frenchie starts to bite, kinda hoping he leaves marks to turn off other inmates. “Frenchie— gonna come!”

He drops to his knees and jacks himself off as he sucks Dean’s cock into his mouth, flicking his eyes up to watch him unravel. 

“Oh go—” Dean ruts into his throat as he comes, his leg shaking with his release. “Shit... Frenchie... let me have yours.”

The guard swallows and pulls off to lay back on the ground, fucking up into his fist with a strained moan. “‘Urry up, I’m—”

Dean drops down and sucks the head of his cock just as he begins to come. It tastes better than the others too, so he gets a little greedy sucking him dry. 

“Fuck,” Frenchie whispers, finally stilling. “See what I mean? It is always better when two people want it instead of one.”

“I fuckin’ agree. Thanks for that.” Dean sits back after sliding his clothes back on and lays his head back against the wall to catch his breath. 

Frenchie fixes his pants and grabs his radio, smacking it on his palm to make sure it still works. “In ze future, if you want more toast, I’ll get you more toast. You want more orgasms, I help there, too. Maybe try... less fighting.”

Dean looks at his busted knuckles and huffs a bitter laugh. “Sometimes, I’m gonna have to fight, French. You know that. I really do appreciate it, though.”

He shakes his head with a grin and opens the door. “Don't be a pain in my ass, I won't be a pain in yours... unless you ask me nicely.” He winks, disappearing back to the cafeteria. 

Dean gets up and goes to rinse his hands off, then heads to work. He nearly gets in another fight there, but Butcher breaks it up before it begins and by the time he’s sitting in the yard, he’s a little pent up again. 

Luckily, he comes across some cards so he lays them out and stands up. “Who wants to get their ass kicked?”

Ashton, the dude who fucked up Jask’s face, comes to sit across from him and looks at the empty table. “Do you even have anything to bet with?”

“You'd be surprised,” Dean says, winking and clicking his tongue. He knows the effect that has on people and Ashton proves to be no exception. 

He leans forward and bites his lip. “Which part of your cocky little ass are you offering up, then?”

Dean purses his lips in a pout, pretending to think about it. “How about a blowey in the laundry room, and I want... pack a cigs?

“You're serious? You think your mouth is worth an entire damn pack?” Ashton raises his eyebrows, but doesn't give him a chance to answer. “Fine, deal me in. You're hot enough that I don't care if you suck at it.”

“Suck at suckin’?” Dean leans in. “My mouth is worth ten packs, Ashy boy. Ask around.”

“Funny, the only one I've heard saying a word about your mouth is Ishim, and he says it wasn't that great.” Ash taps the table. “Deal, pretty boy.”

“Yeah he would. You think I gave a creep like that top shelf? Dumber than you look, Ash.” Dean deals, watching his facial expressions and decides to keep him distracted. “Why you hittin’ on my roomie, anyway?”

“ _Hitting,_ not hitting on. And why does anyone do anything around here? I was paid to.” Ash stares at the cards in his hand, and his face gives away how shitty it is. “And no, I'm not telling you who did it. I'm pretty sure they didn't get what they wanted out of it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Hittin’ on _is_ hittin’, Ash. I didn’t think he was your type, anyway. How about you do yourself a favor and fold now.” Dean flashes a smile. “Also, about your friend Ishim, what else he tell you, huh? He tell you he came in twenty seconds?”

“No, he didn't tell me anything, and he's not my friend.” He frowns when he swaps cards and his hand isn't any better. “Just heard rumors, that's all.”

“Mmhm... so who are your friends?” Dean asks, trying to make him slip about who paid him. He assumes what they wanted was Jask to have to get more time, but he just wants to know who. 

Ashton doesn't answer for a long moment, then tosses his cards face down and stands up. “This is prison. No one has friends. Enjoy your cigs… and watch who you ask that many questions to, Winchester. It's not a good look.” He tosses the pack on the table and throws his hood over his head as he walks away, and though Dean tries to peek and see who he goes to, the fucker just goes back inside.

Dean makes a mental note to watch Ash, but not in an obvious way. He takes his cards and his new cigs and goes inside for lunch, and after trading a few cigs for snacks, Dean makes his way over by Frenchie and leans against the wall near him, munching on a Twinkie with a grin. “Want a bite?”

Frenchie tilts his head as he stares at the hickey he left on Dean’s neck. “Looks like I already took one, but if you're offering again..."

“Maybe I am.” Dean pops the rest in his mouth and leans in. “Kinda cravin’ a lil boeuf bourguignon, Frenchie. Taste much better than anything else in this joint.”

That earns him a satisfied hum and a chuckle. "Clever. Will you come quietly this time, or would you prefer to fist fight someone else first?"

“I’ll take door number two. Kinda feel like deckin’ someone before I get off. Then you can give me some soufflé.”

Frenchie outright laughs and playfully nudges him. “Fine, but leave my cafétéria. If you fight again on my watch, _I_ will be ze one taking ze punishment.”

“Alright fine, door number one then. Who knows what room they’d throw me in. Same room, five mins?” Dean doesn’t wait for an answer, just walks out and goes to the room. 

There's no way a full five go by before Frenchie follows him in, and the second the door shuts, he backs him toward the couch and falls backward onto it, pulling Dean with him and into a kiss.

Dean straddles him and smiles into the kiss, rutting his rapidly hardening cock against the guard. “Gonna give me that dick forreal this time, or you gonna make a guy beg?”

“Lock ze door. Take off that ridiculous jumpsuit and come 'ere.” Frenchie pushes him off and struggles with his own pants for a moment, but gets them down around his knees. 

Dean locks the door and walks back, stripping for Frenchie with a cocky grin and gripping his boner, getting a better look at him this time. “Kinda hot, Frenchie.”

“Kind of? You really know how to turn a guy on, Weenchester.” He grins at the face Dean makes and fishes a small bottle of lube out of his pocket, then slicks his cock. “Bring that beautiful ass back to me.”

Chuckling, Dean straddles him again. “How about I _show_ you how hot I think you are.”

“That’ll do.” He teases Dean's hole and slides a finger in, quickly working up to two as his other hand travels up Dean's body. “And you're the beautiful one.”

“Butterin’ me up, huh? Knew the French loved butter.” Dean grins, reaching back to move his hand. “I'm good. I like feelin’ it.” He lines up and sinks down, groaning at the burn and not stopping until he bottoms out.

Frenchie's eyes slam closed as he rocks up, bringing his messy hand around to stroke Dean's cock. He starts muttering in French, and it's hot as hell so Dean starts bouncing, staring down and watching him come unglued. “Feel good, French? You like this ass?”

“Oui,” he grunts, planting his feet on the couch and slamming up as he strokes Dean faster. “Ahhhh, shit… I could die in this ass and be happy.”

“Yeah... say that in French, baby.”

“Je pourrais mourir dans ce cul et être heureux!” He bites his lip and lets go of Dean's cock, grabbing both hips and pulling him flush as he grinds up, burying himself as deep as he can go. 

His cock finds Dean prostate and he tosses his head back with a groan as his cock rubs on Frenchie’s stomach. “Fuck... I’m gonna—”

“Donne le moi.” Frenchie fucks up harder, groaning with the effort it's taking not to come first. 

Dean grips the couch and releases, moaning Frenchie’s name with a sinful growl and getting it all up his shirt, clear to his chest. The rush of hot come fills him at the same time, and he’s pulled down into a heated kiss as Frenchie slows his movements. Dean rolls his hips through it, stopping after a few moments and then sitting up to roll off and get cleaned up. “Best fuck i’ve had in a year, hands down.”

Frenchie chuckles. “I could say ze same. Maybe even two years. Maybe three.” He catches his breath and gets up, wiping some of the mess from his shirt and then fixing his pants. “You should go before you get caught.” 

“Alright. Thanks again. Always a good time in France.” Dean kisses him and makes his way back to his room, ready for a nap. 

As he lays down and covers his head with the pillow to block out the light, he smiles to himself. If things stay good with Frenchie, he may not need anyone else at all to help him get through this.

He's got this. 


	2. Chapter 2

For the next couple of months, Dean keeps his head down. He sticks close to Frenchie and even Butcher — ignoring all the shit people are talking about him screwing guards. 

He doesn’t care, they keep him safe… mostly. The problem is that even with two of them, they can't be there all the time. Their shifts end. There are other prisoners. Neither one of them can afford to focus on Dean or appear to show favoritism without losing their jobs — which sucks twice over, now Dean’s horny  _ and  _ looking over his shoulder every twelve seconds because his guards aren't around enough. 

One of those times catches up to him when he stays a few minutes after work detail ends. He's nearly done with what he's doing, and Ishim is nowhere — 

“Winchester.”

_ Goddammit! _ “What?” Dean turns, looking around to see if there are any guards around, and then meets his creepy eyes. 

“It's been a while. I heard you're fresh out of funds for commissary... what happened? The outside world forsake you already?” He takes a step forward, and Dean takes one back. 

“Yeah, you heard wrong. What’s it to you anyway?”  _ And how the fuck would he know?! _

Ishim shrugs. “I can help. I'm just about done trying to play nice with you... you know those little pet guards of yours can't protect you forever. Last chance for an arrangement that benefits both of us.”

Dean fake contemplates for a second and then just says simply: “Nah.”

Something like rage flashes through his eyes, but he forces a laugh. “Have it your way, then. See you soon, Deano…” Ishim pats Tiny on the back and leads him out. 

_ Fuck. _ Dean doesn’t relax until he’s back in his cell, but tries to avoid his cellmate’s eyes. It doesn't work, and Jask sits up the moment he gets a good look at Dean. 

“You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Do I?” Dean makes a point to fix his face. “How about now?” He does the blue steel in an attempt to deflect, but Jask just shakes his head. 

“Alright then, keep your secrets, Gandalf.” He stands up and stretches, then grabs his gray zip up. “Let's go shoot some hoops. I'm going stir crazy now that I'm getting closer to the big day.”

Dean smiles genuinely. “Happy for you, man. Let’s go.” Once they’re outside, Dean spots Benny and then decides to just ask Jask about him. “How’s your friend Benny? He uh... still lookin’ for a “toy”?” Dean asks, trying to act like he's just nosey and not concerned, but probably failing. 

“Far as I know, he still doesn't have one, so… probably?” Jask shrugs, then jogs over and has a quick conversation with the inmates that currently have the only ball, then comes back with it under his arm and grins. “Why, you interested all of a sudden? French and Butch not cutting it anymore? Or is it that you're sick of letting me spoon you?”

“Just curious. Haven’t seen anyone around him, so—” he jerks his shoulder up — “Just curious.” Dean looks around and is glad he doesn’t see Ishim. “Feel like somethin’s about to go down with Ish... guards are only here for so many hours. I mean, they work 12’s, but... that still leaves a lot of hours, y’know? It’s whatever, I’ll handle it.”

“Maybe you should've been suckin' MM off, too,” Jask teases, but then his face gets a little more serious. “For real, you that worried about it?”

“Nah.” Dean lowers his jump suit and ties it around his hips, then motions for Jask to play. “Let’s go, J. You worried about losin’?”

Jask laughs loudly. “Hah! You wish, you're so short all I have to do is go like this —” he extends his arm above his head, palming the basketball — “and watch you squirm tryna reach it.”

“Fuck you, m’not short. You’re just a fucking giant.” Dean jumps and hits the ball out of his hand, bouncing it with a grin. Ishim disappears from his mind… for now, at least, and Dean uses the friendly game as an excuse to show off in front of Benny… if he's even still interested. 

He ends up beating Jask, but narrowly, and his cellmate ruffles his hair in fake irritation. “So tiny, yet so infuriating. You actually gonna eat with me today or are you gonna sneak off with Frenchie again?”

“I  _ am _ cravin’ some French fries, but I’ll eat with you, I’m friggin starvin’. Then I need a shower.”

“Might wanna do it backwards if you're trying to avoid Ishim. He always showers right after dinner so he can go terrorize people in Rec with the rest of his free time.” Jask tosses the ball back to the guys he stole it from and grins at them. “Up to you, though. I gotta run, got a quiz today in that college class I told you about. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Get an A and show ‘em all you’re more than a pretty face.” Dean winks playfully and takes his advice, heading for the shower. Anything he can do to avoid Ishim on his own is a good thing. 

~~~~

Once he's clean, he heads to dinner alone and scarfs down his food. Frenchie’s talking to some new guard Dean’s never seen, but once that guy walks away, Frenchie catches Dean’s eye and jerks his head toward the door with a questioning look. 

Dean nods and heads there, ignoring looks from other inmates and slipping inside their usual spot. “Hey, French. Who’s the new guy?”

“‘Is name is Ashmore, but ‘e's already got a nickname, aussi. Lamplighter, they call him.” Frenchie then explains that not all that long ago, Ashmore was a pyro — got busted a couple of times for it, too. Apparently they're letting just anyone be a prison guard these days.

“Got it. I’ll steer clear. I have another question, and then you can have me. What’s the worst Ishim could do? Like, worst case scenario.”

Frenchie blinks. “‘E could rape you. Kill you. Think of all ze tools 'e has access to.”

“Awesome. Alright.” He’s kind of lost his boner, but he starts kissing on him as a distraction and it works. He grinds their crotches together and starts to get hard again, and Frenchie’s right there with him. 

They stumble their way to the couch and undress in hasty movements, but as the truth of his situation sinks in, he realizes he might actually die soon. He kisses down Frenchie’s neck and whispers into his ear, “How bout you let me have this ass?”

Frenchie grins, tossing him the lube. “And ‘ere, I thought you'd never ask.” 

Dean’s fully hard now as he lubes himself up. He opens Frenchie quickly and has him bend over the couch, and the sight makes him groan. For a guy he barely looked twice at when he got here, Frenchie looks damn good to him now. “Didn’t know you’d let me... but man... I’ve thought about it, French.” He kisses his back and then nudges inside slowly to let him adjust. “Fuck... been so fucking long.”

“Should have asked sooner, then,” Frenchie says quietly. I prefer it this way.” He reaches down to grip his own cock and strokes as Dean moves, bracing himself on the back of the couch. 

“Well, fuck.” Dean grins and starts fucking him harder. “Prefer it like this, huh, Frenchie? Shoulda told me... been dreamin bout this ass.”

He lets out a laugh that turns into a grunt as Dean starts hitting just the right spot. “Had to know I could trust you first, you see. Can't let that information spread.” He moves his hand faster, rocking back to meet each thrust and growling low. “Donne moi!”

“Yeah... fuck... ass is so tight.” Dean goes harder, wanting to show Frenchie he can make him feel good. “Come for me... let me see it.”

What comes out of Frenchie’s mouth next is a string of what Dean can only assume are cuss words he’ll have to ask about later. The guard leans back against Dean, tilting his head to suck on his neck as he comes all over the couch in front of them, and the hickey he leaves shoves Dean over. 

He slams inside with a growl, filling up his ass and shuddering hard — he'd forgotten how good it feels to actually come inside of someone… or hell, even some _ thing. _

Dean stays seated inside of him while they come down and then slides out and starts fixing his pants, knowing they never have much time. “Ass is A+ Frenchie. Needed that.”

“Well now I've ‘ad your mouth, your cock  _ and _ your ass… maybe I can't decide which one I like best.” Frenchie cleans the mess up with an amused, quiet laugh and gets dressed again. 

“Yeah... same here, bud. You uh... almost off?” he asks. He tries to ask casually, but he knows he looks worried. 

“Oui.” Frenchie nods, flicking his eyes down Dean's body and back up. “Pourquoi? Ishim?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’ll just hang out in my cell. I got this. You have a good day, French.” Dean peeks out the door to leave, but Frenchie stops him. 

“Be careful, Weenchester. I cannot keep 'im away from you forever.” Frenchie grabs a fistful of Dean's jumpsuit and pulls him in, kissing him like he actually cares about if he lives or dies. 

It feels good as hell, but he knows the truth behind the words... he’s out of options. “See ya, handsome. Hope you feel me tomorrow.” Dean winks and leaves, walking straight back to his cell. 

He paces a while, trying to think of his next move — and it all comes down to one person... Benny. “Fuck…” Dean steps out of his cell and looks at Benny across the way, and it doesn't take much to get his attention. 

Ben sizes him up and excuses himself from the inmates he’s talking to and heads for the rec area. Dean bumps his forehead on the metal  door frame and then follows, approaching him slowly — he knows he should say  _ something,  _ he just doesn't know what.

“Thirsty, Dean?” Benny opens the fridge and tosses him a bottle of water. “It ain't roofied, chere.”

“Thanks.” Dean drinks it, eyes still locked on Benny. He’s thankful he’s attractive, he just never imagined he’d be someone’s bitch so he finds himself struggling more than he thought he would. “So uh... about that offer…”

The throaty chuckle he releases is too damn low to be real. “Sit down. You're way too damn high strung right now to be makin’ decisions. Turn on the tv, relax a while.”

Dean frowns, confused at the strange response. “Relax? So you don’t want me to suck you off or somethin?” 

Benny hesitates for a moment as he stares at Dean's mouth, then shakes his head. “That's mighty tempting, but uh... no. Not unless you want to. I want loyalty, Dean... not fear.”

“Loyalty.” Dean huffs a laugh. “That's give and take though, Ben. Would you be loyal to me?”

He inclines his head in a nod. “I would. No one would hurt you if you were mine, Dean. I'd put no one above you, and let no one put you beneath them.”

That sounds tempting as fuck, so Dean bobs his head. “No one would hurt me... that include Ishim?”

“That sumbitch comes anywhere near you, I'll feed him his own, sorry excuse for a cock for breakfast.” Benny takes a seat and extends an arm over the back of the couch, looking relaxed — but  _ utterly _ serious. “And then I'll feed him Tiny’s.”

Dean chuckles and licks his lip, then sits next to him. “And what would it take for that? What if he just threatened me?”

“Just now?” Benny raises his eyebrows. “I can't fault the little idiot for things he's already done. But in the future... yeah. That's all it'll take.” He runs his finger over Dean's bottom lip and lets out a low groan. “You're somethin' else, chere. Don't think I've ever seen anything so pretty up close.”

He feels his cheeks flush, but he’s always liked attention so he smirks. “That so? And you want me, don’t you? Even though I’ve tried to avoid you for months?”

“Yeah.” Benny drops his hand, but his fingers curl on his lap like he's fighting himself. “I told you, Dean. I got no interest in takin' somebody by force. All I'm lookin' for is a little loyalty, a little... companionship. And hell, if you end up wantin' me, too—” he drags his eyes down Dean's body — “All the better.”

“I think I— I can do that, Benny. As far as loyalty goes... I’m gonna take a guess that includes fucking other people?”

Benny smiles. “Quick as you are pretty. Yeah, that includes other people. If you're mine, you're mine. Simple as that. I'm not forcin' you here, Dean. You can walk away and I won't do a damned thing about it.”

“Nah, that’s a reasonable request. Got a feeling your cock would be all I need.” He licks his lips again and then bites his bottom one, liking the effect he’s having on the most feared man in Cellblock D. 

“Do ya, now? Feel free to find out.” Benny flicks his eyes to the bulge in his pants, then back up to Dean. 

Dean looks around the room and then grips Benny's huge boner, his body instantly responding. “Damn, Benny... gonna split me open with that.” He keeps feeling it’s girth, and the heat has his own twitching. “Fuck.”

“Ahhh, hell.” Benny tips his head back and rolls his hips a little, but pushes Dean's hand off gently. “Come sit on my lap. Face the tv, it's time for my show. Get anything you need first... more water, there's snacks in there you can help yourself to. No one will say anything to you now.” 

“Really?” Dean gets up and goes to look for a snack, then comes back and climbs onto Benny’s lap with a small blush. He knows this is for people to see, so people know he’s his — and that realization actually makes him sit up straighter with a smirk. He’s surprised he actually likes feeling owned.

He puts some show on that Dean's never seen, and they sit there for at least an hour like that as people come and go. They all stare conspicuously but never say a word — and Dean can see they keep their mouth shut out of nothing  _ but  _ fear, which only makes this whole offer even weirder. 

Benny stays hard under Dean's ass, but doesn't try anything at all. His fingers brush over Dean's arm almost the whole time and he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen until the credits roll, then plants a kiss to Dean's shoulder. “Thank you for that, chere. You can go if you'd like, I think the point's been made for now.”

“Alright... I’ll uh... see you at breakfast?” Dean asks, not ready to move just yet. 

“I'll save you a seat. Don't be late.” Benny plants another kiss to Dean’s back and taps him gently, and Dean rubs his ass on Benny’s thick length once as he slides off. 

He turns to him with a wink on his way out. “See you then.”

~~~~

The walk back to his cell is weird — prisoners that used to gawk at him are avoiding his gaze now, and even the guards are looking at him differently. When he ducks inside, Jask is already sitting on his bed. “You look tired, J.”

“Huh?” Jask glances up from the book he’s squinting at. “I look fabulous, shut up.”

“Yeah, you do.” Dean lays on his bed, already feeling lighter. He knows Ishim might still try something, but he’s not afraid anymore. He just  _ knows _ Benny would make him regret it. He also wants to fuck Benny a hell of a lot more now than he did four hours ago, which is a surprise to him... but it definitely helps the situation. “You uh... hear?” 

“Bout you and Big Ben? Yeah, whole cellblock did by now. Surprised you didn't hear Ishim screaming.” Jask snorts, setting the book aside. “You don't look like you're a man regretting his decisions. I take it, it went okay?”

“Yeah. I don’t regret it. Not yet... it all just seems a little too good to be true, but i think I can trust him. He didn’t even try and fuck. I’m glad Ishim heard, though. Wish I did hear him scream,” Dean chuckles. 

“He's royally pissed about it, but Tiny flat out told him if he tries anything now, he's on his own. You could fuck Ishim's world up without that mammoth backing him up. Don't think you have to worry about him anymore.”

“Good to know. I can take the mammoth, too.” Dean laughs at himself, knowing it's not true or he wouldn't be in this situation. “Just gotta outlast his fat ass. But I dunno... why you think Ben didn’t try and fuck me? Just had me sit on his lap for an hour.”

Jask raises his eyebrows. “You’d be better off asking him, but if I had to guess? Probably just didn't want you to think he was raping you. It's not Ben's style.”

“Well, I appreciate that... more than he realizes. Between you and me though, kinda wanted to fuck him.” Dean chuckles. “He gonna wait for me to make that move?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Just know you  _ can _ say no.” He tosses Dean the book. “Cmon. Help me study.”

~~~~

When Dean walks into the cafeteria the following morning, he glances at Benny’s usual table and notices there’s a spot to his right that’s empty. Normally, one of his goons sits there, but when Dean sees breakfast there, he has a feeling it’s for him. He walks over without being prompted and blushes slightly at all the turned heads, but when he catches Ishim’s eye, he grins. “Hey, Ben. This spot taken?”

“By you, chere. Have a seat.” Benny stares Ishim down until the man walks over and drops his toast on Dean’s plate. He doesn't say a word — his face is so red with rage that Dean thinks he might explode — but Benny shoots him a satisfied smile. “You may go, Ishim. Don't look at him.”

Ishim leaves without so much as a glance in Dean’s direction, and Dean grabs the toast and shoves it off his plate. He turns to face Benny with an adorable, breathtaking grin. “I could kiss you y’know that?”

“Who's stoppin' you?” Benny slides his hand around the back of Dean's neck and pulls him in, kissing him softly at first and then more possessively — but as suddenly as it started, he pulls back. “Eat your breakfast, Dean. And take your time... no one’ll be comin' after your food no more.”

He licks his lips and then starts eating, actually enjoying it for the first time since arriving. “It tastes better than what I was eating, too. How’d you get it with more flavor?”

A broad, powerful hand slides up and down Dean's back and settles around his waist. “Perks of bein' me.”

Dean likes it, so he leans in to whisper, “How bout you let me thank you properly after?”

Benny shifts his legs just enough that when Dean flicks his eyes down, he can see the bulge. “I won't say no to that. But after work detail. I want to take my time with you.”

The thought makes him shudder, and Dean spreads to return the favor — his own bulge evident now. “Killin’ me, Ben…”

Something about seeing the evidence that he turns Dean on too seems to change something in him, and he reaches between Dean's legs, palming him as he turns back and continues eating. “Dean, this here's Desmond and the Old Man. Say hi.”

That hand doesn't stop. “H—hi.” Dean drops his fork and ruts up, already forgetting their names. “Nice ta— um... meet you.”

Desmond salutes him with a knowing, almost apologetic smile, and the Old Man asks him a question he doesn't hear as Benny squeezes. 

“Ah shit... Ben…” Dean closes his eyes tightly and groans. “C’mon... let’s go to your cell,” he says quietly, reaching over to rub Benny’s bulge. 

His eyes flash and he tightly grabs Dean's hand, but presses it harder against his length before letting go and standing up. “Des, I trust you can handle cleanup.” When he nods, Benny starts walking away. “C'mon, chere.”

It only takes Dean about a half second to get up, and he blocks his crotch as he follows excitedly. The cells don't provide much privacy at all, but the second they reach Benny's, he grips Dean by the throat and pulls him into a kiss as he reaches down to free Dean's cock and stroke him.

_ Holy shit.  _ Dean’s a mess, rocking into his hand with a stifled groan, and Benny only tightens both hands. He backs Dean against the wall and licks into his mouth as he pumps him faster, until Dean’s whole body is alight with heat and need.

“Ben... fuck... I wanna—” 

“Come for me,” Benny drawls, twisting his hand and squeezing his throat a little tighter. “Let go for me, chere.”

“Ah fuck— Be—” Dean closes his eyes and lets the feeling overtake him until he finally hits the edge and empties with a lightheaded whine. 

Benny kisses him again as he lets him go, wrapping his arms around him to support his weight. “There.” He kisses across Dean’s jaw and down to his neck, growling quietly at the sight of Frenchie’s mark. He bites him harder, covering that mark and making one of his own. 

Dean twitches under him, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks, Ben. Needed that. Sorry about that mark, but I imagine the one you left is much bigger, huh?”

“Not big enough.” Benny leaves another, and another, until there's a line of them around his neck like a collar. He sucks Dean's earlobe into his mouth and then kisses him again, only then stepping back. “You're gonna be late. Go. I'll see you back here after.” 

The last thing Dean wants is to have to go back to answering to Ishim. “You think you can talk to someone? I'd rather work with you than Ishim.”

“No. There's nothin' I can do about work detail... not yet, anyway. Andre's in your crew, if Ishim gives you shit, he'll take care of it.”

Dean nods, taking in Benny’s form and that massive lump in his pants. He grabs it, rubbing it as he steps in. “Can I take care of you after at least? I want it.” 

Benny moans quietly and lets Dean touch him for a moment as he nods. “Yeah, Come find me when you're done.” He squeezes Dean's ass and pulls them flush until Dean can feel every inch of that hard, aching cock. “See you real soon, chere. Want you thinkin' bout me while you're gone. Understood?”

“How could I not? Want you so fucking bad, Benny.” Dean nips Benny’s lip and then turns to leave. “Think about me too, yeah?”

“How could I not?” Benny echoes, adjusting himself as Dean winks and heads out the door. 

~~~~

Ishim takes one look at the ring of hickeys around Dean's neck and throws the gallon of paint he was using to redo the walls in the rec room. He doesn't say a word about it — but the fury making him shake is evident. 

Dean’s a cocky little shit, making sure he’s almost always in his view — and when their shift ends, he walks over with a grin. “Good for today, Ish. Nothin’ you gotta say?”

He forces a smile, and it looks like the effort it's taking is causing him actual pain. “Of course not. Have a... pleasant evening, Dean.”

“Thank you, Ish.” Dean pats his back aggressively so he loses his balance slightly and then walks away with a little pep in his step. Prisoners that normally don't pay any attention to him at all dip their heads to him as he passes, and one even offers him a bag of gummy snacks that are usually always out of stock at commissary. 

He takes the gummies and thanks the guy, getting a little cocky and asking if he can get them for him once a week. When the dude agrees without question, Dean goes in search of Benny while chewing on them happily.

He finds him talking to Lamplighter, but as usual, the conversation breaks off when Benny spots him. He comes to him instantly, checking over him and smiling at the look on his face. “Good day?”

“Best day since getting arrested. Want some?” Dean feeds him a gummy and then kisses him, and Benny smiles against his lips. 

“I'm glad. Are you hungry?”

“Always. Especially for what you feed me. Tryna fatten me up, Ben?” Dean grins and walks at his side, and Benny snakes an arm around him. 

“Just tryna take care of you, chere.” He pulls him closer and kisses his temple, then waves toward the prisoner dishing up food. He disappears, coming back a few moments later with two trays of food that smell way better than anything else around. 

“Already know the way to my heart, Ben.” Dean takes the tray with a huge grin and walks to Benny’s usual table, instantly stuffing his face. 

They eat in silence, but once they're done, Benny leans in. “Got room for more?”

Dean looks at him and nods, leaning in and kissing him. Being by Benny’s side is turning out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him even if it somehow still feels... hollow. “Lead the way.”

He insists on stopping in the showers first, and for the first time, Dean’s able to take his time without fear of someone jumping him or staring at him. He puts on a little show for Benny, running his hands over his wet body and turning slowly under the water, until he hears the sound of ragged breathing next to him. 

“I never thought I'd say this, but watchin’ you is nearly as good as touchin’ you.”

“You can do both, Benny.” Dean grabs his hand and brings it to his lower abdomen. “They all know I’m yours.”

Benny’s cock is full between his thighs as he steps in closer, gently leaning in to kiss him. “Say it again.” 

“I’m yours, big guy... all of me.” Dean pretends he’s going to kiss him, but instead drops to his knees and sucks him down, groaning at the stretch of his jaw. He knows people are watching, and he doesn’t give a shit. He feels too damn good.

That fat cock twitches on his tongue and sinks in further as Benny rocks forward, wrapping his hand around the back of Dean’s head and fisting his hair. “Oh hell, Dean… that pretty mouth of yours was worth the wait.” 

Dean attempts to smile but he can’t, so he just hums as he reaches down to stroke himself. Benny keeps a slow pace, dragging himself over Dean’s tongue and craning to watch his movements. When one of the other inmates steps a little too close, Benny growls. “Walk… away. Shower time’s over, for all of you.  _ Get.”  _

They scatter, leaving Dean on his knees with a cock in his throat. Still, he loves the power Benny radiates and it has him leaking, groaning and trying to speed up his mouth a little.

Once they're alone, Benny pulls out and grips the base of his cock. “Dean… I— fuck. Been wantin’ this for fuckin’ months, I’m close. You sure you wanna swallow? It's… it's a  _ lot, _ chere.”

Dean’s breathless as he nods. “Yeah, give it to me... let me take care of you.”

He leans in for more, and Benny growls as he shoves back in, snapping his hips until his cock slips into Dean's throat. It doesn't take long before Benny’s throwing his head back and slamming his free hand against the wet shower wall. As his cock starts to pulse, Dean realizes he wasn't joking — there's so much come that he chokes as he tries to swallow it all, but some leaks down the sides of his mouth. His eyes water from the assault, but it also shoves him over the edge and he comes with a whine, spraying the floor between Benny's feet. 

“Well I'll be damned,” Benny chuckles softly as he pulls out. “Best hummer I think I've ever gotten.” He drops down with him and licks the mess from his face, then catches Dean in a messy kiss, using his tongue to make Dean take what he couldn't the first time. 

Dean sucks his tongue with a groan and shoves him back, straddling him and kissing him again as the water runs over them. They lose track of time like that, all heated kisses and exploring hands, but eventually, Dean climbs off of him and helps him up. 

“Will you sleep in my cell tonight?” Benny asks, sounding unsure for the first time. “Mother's Milk is on duty, he’ll unlock your cell after the headcount if you say yes.”

“Yeah. I didn’t think that was even possible. Yeah, Ben. I’ll come.”

Benny shuts the showers down and hands Dean a towel. “It's not possible for just anyone, and it's not possible for me with every guard. MM just… owes me. Maybe one day, I'll tell you why.”

“Alright, well... maybe we can get that cock in me tonight, babe.” Dean nips his jaw and rubs their spent cocks together, making Benny hiss with pleasure. 

He chuckles, smacking Dean’s ass before getting dressed. “Then I'll see you at lights out.”

~~~~

The click of the lock on his cell door makes Dean jump and look over at Jask. He whispers “don’t wait up, mom” as he slips out of bed and sneaks out of the cell. 

The hall looks creepy as he walks along the cold floor. The dim lights cast shadows everywhere he looks, and he tries to avoid being seen as best as he can. But a couple of the inmates are still up and peeking through the bars at him — he can only hope they fear Benny enough to keep their damn mouths shut. 

Outside the cells, there's no one but MM in sight. He nods once at the guard and pushes open the metal door to Benny’s cell, biting his lip. “Knock knock?”

Benny instantly pulls Dean in and wraps his arms around him. “Mmm. Missed you,” he growls quietly, smelling Dean’s hair and tugging it back to kiss him. 

“Did you?” Dean kisses again, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I'm here now, Benny. All yours.”

He’s lifted from his feet as Benny carries him to the bed, but instead of laying him down, he makes him stand on the mattress and face the wall. His bare ass hits the cold air as Benny tugs his pants down and growls, “Lean forward and spread.”

Dean does as told without question, biting his lip and blushing at the attention. “Damn, baby. Makin’ me hard already.”

He hears the pop of a bottle followed by a wet sound, then Benny’s tongue slides between Dean’s spread cheeks as he starts to jack off. 

“Fuck! Ben…” He’s happy Benny’s managed to skate by without a cellmate, but it’s probably because even the guards know better than to put someone in there with him. Dean tries to keep it down but he groans, pushing back and gripping his cock as Benny’s tongue flicks over his hole and presses in. 

The sound of him stroking that thick, lubed cock is sinful, and if it weren't for how damned good his tongue felt — Dean would already be begging for it. But Benny just gets more intense, moaning as the sounds speed up until Dean’s trying to grip the wall in front of him for support on that flimsy mattress. 

When Dean leaks into his fist, he can’t take it anymore. “Ben... c’mon, baby. Need you to fuck me... been thinkin about that cock.”

"Have you?" Benny bites his ass but grabs Dean by the hips, maneuvering until they're laying down back to chest. He slides his fingers into Dean's ass just to make sure, then cages Dean against him with one arm and shoves his cock in with the other.

Dean grunts, his ass burning more than with anyone else — but it doesn’t soften his own length at all. “M’so full... fuck... gotta fat dick, Ben…”

“Mmm.” Benny bites the side of his neck and reaches down to spread Dean's legs apart, bucking off the mattress and slamming up into him. “Touch that pretty cock for me, boy.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Dean grabs his cock and strokes, moaning like a whore so loudly MM hits the bars with his nightstick. “Fuck... Benny... harder.”

Ben’s movements become so rough that their bodies separate and Dean’s whole body is bouncing on its own, and Benny growls low in his ear.

“Goddamn... gettin... fuckin... deep. Ah god, right there!” Dean starts stroking faster, not trying to stay in rhythm. 

The mattress groans in protest as Benny keeps up that same brutal pace, then just as his own movements start to become erratic, he rolls them onto their sides as slams in. “Think you can take all of me in this tight little ass?”

“Goddamn—” Benny grips Dean’s cock and tucks it against Dean’s stomach as he rolls them further, flattening him out and pinning his whole body down as he fucks into him. “Ass is —  _ fuck.”  _ He drapes his massive body over Dean and claws at his hips as he lifts him up, grinding into him deep until he's finally coming with a dangerous growl.

Dean cries out in pleasure, feeling so fucking owned he’s having an out of body experience. “Ben— ah fuck— don’t— don’t stop!”

“Come for me, Dean.” Benny bites his neck again and slams in hard, and Dean can feel the massive load of come being pushed deeper. It shoves him over and he empties all over Benny’s mattress with a muffled groan.

He rolls his hips, huffing a laugh and then turns his head to the side. “Damn, Benny... really know how to make a guy come back beggin’ for more.”

“Good” is the only answer he gets before Benny rolls them back onto their sides and closes his eyes. By the time Dean asks if he's allowed to stay, Benny’s already snoring quietly behind him with his cock still buried deep. 

He sleeps so well that he barely notices when Benny’s cock slips out of him. But Benny sure does, and he strokes himself until he’s shoving back inside and drifting off again. 

Benny ends up dreaming of that ass and rutting forward until it wakes him up. All he can feel is the tight heat wrapped around his length, and he wants more — always more. He grips Dean's cock and moves slowly, leaning back to watch his own cock drag in and out of Dean's abused ass in the dim light.

Dean begins to stir and grins, pushing back and mumbling “more” in an adorable, sleepy voice. 

“Shh, chere. No noise this time.” He keeps going, then buries himself deep and just humps into him slowly as Mother's Milk comes into the cell to talk to him. He carries on a conversation as he strokes Dean, still rolling his hips, and Dean has to bury his face in the pillow to muffle his moans. 

“He's pretty, ain't he?” Benny fucks in a little harder as MM agrees. “Might be the best I've ever had. Can seem to leave this ass.”

MM chuckles. “You gonna share him at all?”

“You know I don't usually share, MM.” He drags his cock out and rolls Dean onto his stomach, spreading his cheeks. “See this gorgeous, abused little hole? This ass is mine.”

Mother’s Milk growls and balls his fists, and everyone around knows exactly why. “Can I at least keep watchin’?”

“I'll do you one better.” He pulls Dean back to him and slides in, kissing the side of his neck. “Want our friend here to touch you while I fuck you, boy?”

“Fuck…” Dean groans, worried it’s a test. “Only if that’s okay with you, Ben. If it’s cool with you, it’s cool with me... m’loyal to you.”

“Don't move your hand. Let me.” Benny nods once to MM to give him the okay, and the guard reaches his hand over to grip Dean's cock as he shoves in deeper, rocking Dean's body forward so his cock slides in MM's hand.

MM is grinning, bulging his pants and Dean is a moaning mess. Just feeling a new hand on his dick has him leaking and gripping the sheets.

“That's it, just stay still Dean. We got you.” Benny keeps an agonizingly slow pace until he can't hold back anymore and starts fucking him harder, each snap of his hips driving Dean's cock into that tight fist. 

“Fuck... Benny…” He doesn’t moan MM’s name at all, because he wants Ben to know  _ he’s _ the one he’s thinking of. This time, he’s sure he’s going to come first. “M’close... fuck…”

Two of Benny's fingers slip into Dean's mouth. “Suck, baby boy. I miss that mouth already.”

Dean mumbles and drools down his fingers as he nears the edge. His eyes are open, but he can’t see anything in his state of euphoria. It's so good that all it takes is one particularly brutal thrust and the slight twisting of MM’s hand to have Dean coming apart and releasing with a muffled moan. 

“Damnit, boy.” Benny smacks MM’s hand away as he grips Dean’s hips and fucks in hard, chasing his own release. The guard just watches with his standard-issue pants tented so much the zipper strains until Benny comes with drawn-out thrusts and a guttural growl. 

“Goddamn, Benny —” MM licks his hand — “he’s delicious, too.”

Chuckling proudly, Dean just relaxes against Benny as he keeps talking. “Ain't he? Every inch of him is perfection. But that was a one-time deal, M. You got that?”

“Alright, alright,” MM sighs. “Gonna go rub one out now, make sure he’s back in his cell soon. I don't wanna be hearin’ about this later, y’hear me?”

Dean frowns; he wants to sleep without fear a little longer, but he also doesn't want to fuck this up. “When can I come back?”

MM clicks his tongue. “I got the next 48 off, doctor's orders. Frenchie's coverin' for me.”

The look Benny gives him could make a man drop dead, but he doesn't argue. “Alright. ‘Spose he can stay in his own cell till then.”

When MM salutes them and leaves, Dean rolls over to face Benny and smiles at how sore he feels. “Every inch, huh?”

“Mmhm,” Benny hums, kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Now go, get that perky ass of yours back in time for headcount.”

~~~~

That night at dinner, Benny has business to attend to and tells Dean to eat on his own, so he sits with the Old Man. They don't have anything in common other than Benny so they don't say much, but Frenchie catches his eye when he takes his tray back and nods to the door. 

Dean is a little worried, but he doesn’t plan on doing anything so he goes and keeps the door open. “Hey, French.”

“I've ‘eard ze rumors,” he says simply. “Is it true?”

“Dunno what you heard, but if it’s about Benny... then probably. I had to... you were just off for days, I could’ve been killed, Frenchie. Now... Ishim won’t even look at me. It was nothin’ against you... but Benny treats me good... if that matters at all.”

Frenchie nods, his eyes roving over the marks Benny left. “Of course it does. I'm not angry, Weenchester. Disappointed, perhaps… not angry.”

“Sorry. But... you know we can’t —” he waves a hand — “anymore, right? He doesn’t share.”

“Funny, I 'eard he shared you just fine zis morning,'' Frenchie says, but he smacks Dean lightly on the shoulder and ducks around him to leave, stopping at the door. “If you need anything... you know where to find me.” He glances at the couch with a longing expression and then turns, ducking out of the room. 

Dean frowns. He's pissed that MM told people, and when he goes to find him, he just gets more annoyed that he's nowhere in sight. “Friggin high school in this damn place.” 

He storms off to his room to sit and be a grouch. He feels bad for having to end things with French — he was a nice dude, but this is bigger than that. He needs Benny and if he’s being honest, he  _ likes _ being Benny’s. If he had to choose... he’d choose Ben. Even  _ if  _ he was safe. 

~~~~

“Not much longer now, D,” Jask says excitedly. “They gave me an exact date.”

Dean grins. Now that things are going so well with Benny, he's not as worried as he once was about Jask getting out. Now, he can just be happy for him. “Yeah? What're you gonna do?”

“Gonna make my boyfriend take a solid month off of work, and I'm not leaving his ass until he cries.” Jask huffs a laugh. “Who am I kidding? I haven't been laid in two years, I don't even know if the damn thing still works.”

“Oh. it works. Poor guy’s gonna be beggin’ you to stop. Sucks you haven’t had a moment alone with him that long, though. Were you guys dating before you got locked up, or you meet in here?”

“We were dating first, which is why we gotta be so damn careful. If anyone found out, they'd transfer him somewhere else. And even not getting laid... it was still better to have him close. Made it easier, y'know?” He shrugs, laying back. “This place'll eat you alive if you don't have something to hang onto.”

Dean lays back too and thinks about what he’s holding onto. Part of him thinks there’s nothing. Maybe the place  _ is _ eating him alive... but at least he’s getting laid. “Ares is hot as hell. I’d hang on, too... and I mean that with respect,” Dean chuckles. 

“Get your own,” he teases. 

“Hey, I got Benny now. I’m nothin’ if not loyal.”

Jask shoots him a look that suggests he's full of shit. “What, you actually falling for him or something?”

“Nah. Falling? Like love? Never done that. Doesn’t mean I’m not loyal, J. I gave him my word, he’s definitely kept his. I can keep mine, too.”

The eye roll he recieves is legendary. “I'm not saying you can't be loyal without being in love. I'm saying that Benny doesn't count as your very own Ares if you're  _ not  _ in love — you just wildly misinterpreted my intention. Love’s on a whole other level, D. Benny ain't shit if all it is is protection and a good fuck.”

Dean nods and holds up a hand. “Alright... got it.” He thinks about it all for a few moments and then huffs a small laugh. “I'm glad you have that, J. I am. I don’t have a clue what that is... but I’m happy for you. Who knows, maybe one day I will. Y’know, when I finally get outta here... late 30’s with a rap sheet... guess it isn’t likely.”

“It's never too late, D. I'd given up on everything when I met Ares. He was workin’ midnights as an EMT back then, he was only here part time. Brought my stupid ass back to life in more ways than one that night.” 

He rolls to his side, hissing at the soreness when he moves. “That’s beautiful. When did you know he was the one?”

“The second I was coherent enough to look in his eyes.” Jask smiles softly and stares at the ground, picking at his fingernails. “I know that sounds stupid, but I'm serious. I took one look at his eyes and knew he was the one I wanted to wake up next to everyday. Unfortunately, I'm a career fuck-up, and I landed my ass in here not six months after he finally agreed to go on that first date with me.” 

“Hey, I know all about career fuck-ups,” Dean says with a chuckle. “Man... wish we were at a friggin bar right now. I’d kill for a whiskey.”

Jask leans over to ruffle his hair. “Don't worry, I'll have one for you when I get out.”

“Fuckhead.” Dean pushes his hand away and rolls back on his back. “We’ll have one together in a few years… if you’re not too good to hang out with a convict.”

The bell sounding the start of dinner interrupts Jask’s snarky answer, and he switches tactics: “I’ll race you.”

They take off, getting their broad shoulders stuck when they try to squeeze through the door at the same time, but Butcher’s arrival has them straightening up and clearing their throats. Dean hasn't heard from him much since that last blowjob, and unlike Frenchie, he never bothered to ask if they were done.  _ Good, wasn't that fond of you, anyway. _

~~~~

The weather gets a little colder out, which means his work detail is mostly inside now. He misses the sun, but it's not out all that much anyway at this time of year so he doesn't complain. 

While Benny couldn't get him transferred, he  _ did  _ manage to get Ishim knocked off his high horse far enough that Dean doesn't have to answer to him anymore — though he does still have to work with him, and now he's even more pissy on a regular basis. 

They're halfway through helping the regular maintenance guys fix a couple clogged drains and leaky pipes in the shower block when Ishim comes up behind him. “One day, your  _ master _ will get sick of you. You know that, right?”

“Master? I don’t have a friggin master, bitch. Why you so obsessed with me, anyway? Thought I gave — what was it —  _ subpar blowjobs?” _

Ishim lunges forward like he's going to hit Dean, but Tiny throws his arm out to stop him. “I'm not obsessed with you, you little fuck. And funny, if he's not your master, why do you do everything he says? Don't seem to have a problem choking on his cock to save yourself from having to fight your own battles.” 

“You’re one to talk about fighting your own battles when Tiny over here sucks farts out of your ass. How about you fight yours, bitch? I’m right here.” Dean opens his arms wide with a cocky grin. “That's what I thought. Get off my nuts, old man.”

A sadistic chuckle comes out of Ishim’s creepy mouth. “You know what? You're right. I should fight my own battles… how silly of me.” He flicks his eyes to Tiny and Dean can see the danger there — he just refuses to back down. No matter what Ishim does here, Benny will make him pay for it… and that's good enough for Dean. “Come on, Tiny. We have… business to attend to,” Ishim says lightly, leading him out of the showers and abandoning their work altogether. 

Dean waves like a brat at Ishim’s retreating form and finishes up his work, stopping for a moment to chat with the rest of the crew before heading off to find Benny. 

He's not in his cell like he usually is this time of day, so Dean heads to the rec area next — but the couches are empty. Frowning slightly, Dean makes his way out to the yard to see if maybe Benny just needed some fresh air — but of the handful of prisoners out there, none are the one he's looking for. 

Assuming he must be either in the cafeteria, grabbing something from commissary or maybe having one of his rare visitations, Dean goes looking for Desmond and the Old man. 

He spots Des running full speed for the guard’s station about a hundred feet away, and after yelling something Dean can't hear through the layer of glass, Frenchie and Mother’s Milk both take off after him back the direction he came. 

Dean tries to follow, taking off at a run after them with his heart pounding in his chest. He knows something bad has happened, he just doesn't know what — but he barely closes half the distance between them before the alarm starts blaring and the lockdown announcement starts. “Frenchie!!” he yells. “Frenchie, wait! What happ—”

Butcher’s fist closes around Dean’s jumpsuit and pulls him back. “Not today, kid. Back to yer cell.”

“Butch! What happened? Can you tell me anything?”

The man doesn't utter a damn word until he's tossing Dean into his cell and slamming the door shut. “Fuck if I know. Nothin’ good, I'll tell ya that.” His head snaps to his left and he yells “Oye! Get back in yer cells!” before going after whoever it is. 

“Fuck!” Dean kicks the bars when they close and keeps his eyes glued outside. “Fuck, J... I have a bad fucking feeling.”

Jask comes to stand by him, the red light of the alarm flashing across his face. “The guards here only lock us down when fights turn deadly. Too much paperwork involved for them to do it for anything less, not to mention they like to keep the warden safe in his office.”

“So someone died? Or could be dying? Fuck... J, I think it’s Benny. I don’t know which end, but he’s been kinda MIA and I couldn’t fucking find him. He always meets me after work.”

His cellmate shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised. I wasn't here for it, but the last time this happened, Benny killed a guy for messing with Ares. It's why I owe him so damn much, and why no one tests him. He's a bad dude. A good guy, but a bad dude.”

“Well fuck... how long he’d get solitary for that?” Dean’s panicking and pacing now, but Jask reaches out a hand to steady him.

“Exactly zero days. Benny isn't an idiot, D. They might've caught him for the murder that landed him in here, but they couldn't prove he was the one that did it in here. I'm sure they won't be able to prove it this time, either.”

Dean nods, groaning in frustration as he walks back to the bars. “I just wanna know he’s okay.” He’s a little selfish, he’s mostly worried about himself — but he’s surprised to find he's also actually worried for Benny. 

“You might as well relax, D. We'll be in lockdown for hours, no matter what happened. Won't get any answers until then.”

“Goddamnit.” Dean leans back against the wall and slides down, thinking about what would happen if something  _ did _ happen to Benny — and he has a feeling he’d be getting fucked by Ishim within hours.  _ Okay. Guess I'm back to being selfish… but fuck that. No way I'm letting him touch me ever again.  _

~~~~

Turns out, Jask wasn't kidding. It's well into the night before the alarms finally stop, but they're still locked inside their cells until breakfast. The second the lock clicks open, Dean pushes his way out of his cell and goes in search for Benny — but Mother’s Milk heads him off halfway to the cafeteria. 

“Don't go in there. If I were you, I'd go back to your damn cell and stay there until your sentence is up,” he warns quietly. 

“What the fuck happened MM? Where’s Benny?”

He glances around and waves to a guard Dean recognizes but doesn't really know, and waits until he passes. “He's dead, Dean. Benny’s dead.”

Dean steps back, feeling like he’s going to puke. “How?” he whispers, his hand going to his stomach. “It was fucking Ishim wasn’t it?”

“Think so. Beat him to death with a wrench he stole from work detail. Now look, we can't prove it... and I dunno how the fuck it even happened, there were supposed to be people watchin' what was taken. But we can't touch him, not unless a witness miraculously comes forward.”

“Fuck!” Dean punches the wall, splitting his knuckles open but barely feeling the pain of it. “Beat him to death?! How’d anyone get the fucking drop on Ben?” He thinks of their last night together and feels a heaviness in his chest, his eyes burning slightly. “Goddamnit, Benny,” he whispers. 

MM gives him an apologetic look, but takes a step back. “Look, I owe Ben in ways you can't even begin to understand. If I can help you, I will… but if Ishim really took him out, there's only one reason he'd do that. Be on your guard, Winchester.”

“Yeah. I’ll be raped by morning. Thanks for the heads up.” Dean leaves, going back into his cell to clean up his fist. Jask is nowhere to be found this time, but Dean’s kind of glad for it — he doesn't really want to be around anyone, anyway. 

~~~~

Dean hides out as long as he can, but eventually, he has to return to work detail. With Benny dead and the guards suspiciously absent, Dean’s just as scared as he was before, and his eyes shift constantly as he makes his way to report. 

The smug look on Ishim’s face tells Dean everything he needs to know, and he holds his head high as he approaches him to get it over with. “You ready to fight your own battle, Ish? Or are you going to keep hiding behind Tiny?”

“Oh, I did. I took your advice and took my beef straight to the source. That worked out pretty well for me, don't you think?” He snaps his fingers, and everyone else in the room clears out. “Funny thing happens when you kill an inmate as notorious as Big Ben. People listen to you. A few greased palms here, a favor there—” he tilts his head and waits a moment, smiling ferally as the electronic lock on the door clicks — “And look at that. No one to save you now, Dean.”

Everything boils to the surface. How Ishim has treated him, the fact that he’s bragging about killing Benny. The fact that he killed Benny. The fact that he’s about to be raped. All of it combined pushes Dean over. He swings, busting Ishim in the nose so hard blood splatters everywhere. Dean instantly straddles him and punches him over and over, until a rough hand grips Dean by the throat and hauls him off. 

Before Dean can even regain his balance, Tiny throws him against the wall hard enough that Dean can feel his skull cracking. He's too disoriented to do much of anything but throw his arms up in an attempt to defend himself as Tiny’s fist connects with his jaw, and the moment he bends over to try and get out of the way, his rib cracks from the force of Tiny’s knee. 

He still tries, falling forward and shoving Tiny back a step. His head is woozy and he can feel blood drip down his back when he swings again, and he misses entirely, stumbling forward until Ishim’s fist connects with Dean’s already-broken rib. 

It sends him into a coughing fit that feels like fire and fucking brimstone in his chest, but one more hit from Tiny has Dean flat out on the cold concrete floor. The last thing he sees before his vision blacks completely is Ishim stalking toward him… with a knife in his hand.

~~~~

_ Beep. Beep. Beep.  _

Dean lifts his head, but everything hurts so bad he just grunts, every inch of his body in pain. “Hello?” he calls out, coughing with how dry his throat is. 

“Whoa, whoa… easy.” Ares holds out his hand to stop Dean from trying to sit up, then holds a small cup of water to his lips. “Welcome back. I was starting to think I was gonna have to tell Jask I let you die on my watch.”

Dean drinks the water down quickly and looks up to see him. “How long was I… ah— “ he moves a little but it hurts his stomach — “Fuck... when did it happen?”

“Almost a week ago. You've been in and out since then, but this is the first time I've actually seen your eyes since you got here.” He reaches over and pushes the button on Dean’s IV line, and the pain relief is almost instant — but not nearly enough. “That was quite an… everything wound, really… but the one on your head was most concerning.”

“Yeah... had a nightmare I was in jail.” Dean chuckles and lays back. “Guess it was real. Fuck—” he hisses — “the hell happened to my stomach, was I stabbed?”

Ares shifts and sets the cup down, then reaches over to gently pull Dean’s gown up. “Not… exactly. Whoever did this to you wanted you to have a reminder.”

Dean lets him remove the bandage, and even upside down, he knows what it says.  _ Whore.  _ “Awesome.” He looks away, not wanting to see it anymore. 

“It'll heal. The one small mercy is that the cuts weren't that deep, which means if you keep it clean and let it heal, it might not scar too badly.” Ares puts a fresh bandage on and sits on the edge of his bed. “Whoever did this… there's pretty strong evidence that they raped you, Dean. Frenchie… Frenchie found you.”

“Whoever did it,” Dean repeats with a bitter laugh. “Course he did. He was trying for months. Where’s French? Can I talk to him?”

Nodding, Ares stands up. “He's been pacing just outside for the better part of the last three days. I'll go get him.” He disappears, and Frenchie comes running in a moment later. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Frenchie.” Dean forces a smile, trying to sit up. “So I take it no one was caught?”

Frenchie takes the spot Ares just vacated and shakes his head. “Non, you were alone when I found you. All of the security cameras have been wiped out… I know it was 'im, I just can't prove it.”

“Course not. Fuck, French. I won’t get out alive next time. You know that.”

“You will, Dean. You must.” He checks over his shoulder and clicks the pain med button a couple more times. “Zey are both in solitary right now for fighting, but zat was all we could do.” 

Dean’s eyelids feel heavy now, and his head slumps slightly. “So tired, French... fuckin tired of being... scared.” 

He's asleep before Frenchie can answer. 

~~~~

When he wakes up again, there's a different nurse on duty. He checks Dean’s vitals, forces water down his throat, and knocks him out again. 

~~~~

“Dean…? Dean, can you hear me?” 

“Hmm?” He blinks, slowly opening his eyes until Ares’ multi-colored ones come into focus. “What…?”

Ares smiles, reaching over to feel his forehead. “You spiked a pretty bad fever, but it broke a couple of hours ago. Again, I'll say welcome back. How are you feeling?”

“Peachy. Can I go home? I think I paid my dues.” He chuckles at himself and sits up. “Man... I just won’t die, huh?”

That earns him an amused smile. “It's a good quality to have, if you ask me. What's your secret?”

“I dunno. I think I’m just hungry.” Dean wipes his eyes, blinking away the haze. “Can’t die on an empty stomach.”

“I'm not surprised, you've been on IV nutrition for almost two weeks now. I'll see if I can get you something to eat, I'll be back.” Ares heads out, and as Dean watches him go, he notices MM standing guard. He whistles to signal him to come over.

He looks down the hallway before stepping in, but his eyes look a little crazier than normal as he approaches Dean’s bed. “Never thought I'd say this, but it's good to see you, Winchester.”

“Uh thanks? What’s goin’ on out there. They out already?”

MM nods. “Today. Apparently punching a guard is only good for a week in the hole these days. Frenchie’s pissed to high hell about it. You shoulda heard his ass goin' off on the warden.”

“Was it in English?” Dean smiles fondly thinking of Frenchie and what that rant must've sounded like. “So… what happens now?”

“I wouldn't put it past him to try to goad those idiots into hitting him again, but if not... you'll be released back into gen pop in a couple of days. Not much we can do but hope Ishim got his fill or slips up somehow and I can nail his ass to the wall.”

“Can we not talk about nailin’ asses?” Dean asks with a grimace. He doesn't feel that particular pain anymore, but it's still not something he thinks he’ll get over anytime soon. Making Butcher and Henriksen get rough with it on purpose was one thing, but being taken like that when he wasn't even conscious? 

“Fuck, I'm sorry, man. Bad joke.” 

Ares comes back in with a piece of toast and a pudding cup, but stops when he sees MM. “Should I come back?”

“Nah, I was just checkin' on him. I'll leave you to it, boss.” He squeezes Ares' shoulder and heads back out to stand guard as Ares hands over the food.

“Thanks.” Dean takes it and chews slowly. “How's J? He misses my company, huh?”

Ares frowns and scratches the back of his neck. “He uh… he got out. Yesterday. He's home.”

Dean feels that sense of sadness again, but it is gone as fast as it came. “Good. Good for him. Can you tell him congrats for me? Hope he got laid. Poor guy was dying.”

“Was he?” Ares smirks a little, but Dean doesn't miss the blush on his cheeks. “I'll tell him. He's been hounding me everyday for information about you. And yes, you can rest assured… he absolutely got laid. I think I might've taken more painkillers than _ you  _ today just to walk without a limp.”

“Good for you too. That shit had to be hard. You wanna borrow my donut? I think I’m healed down there enough.”

He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “I'll pass, but thanks for the offer. Get some rest, Dean. I'll be right outside if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Dean finished the food slowly after Ares leaves — he knows he  _ should  _ rest, but he's too damn scared and too damn wired to even try. 

~~~~

When he's released two days later, Butcher takes him straight back to his cell. “Yer off detail fer the next two weeks, doctor's orders.”

“Awesome. Any chance I work with different people when I go back?” he asks in a non-hopeful tone. 

Butcher shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. Those assignments are above my pay grade.”

Dean watches him walk away and then limps his way to the cafeteria, getting some food and sitting across from Garth. He can see people looking at him, but he forces down the shame and starts to eat. 

“Hey, Dean,” Garth says with a kind smile. “It's been lonely around here without you and Jask.” 

“I bet. Probably quieter too, huh?” Dean smiles back. “I was lonely too, but I got to know the love of Jask’s life and I get it. I’m really happy for him... hope he never comes back.”

“He won't. I know he doesn't think that highly of himself, but he's a good one. He'll be alright.”

Garth eats quietly for a moment. “I'm sorry about what happened to you.”

“Thanks. Me too. More sorry for Ben,” Dean says honestly. “I saw a side of him most people didn’t. He was a good dude. Didn’t deserve to go like that... especially from a punk like Ishim.”

"Truth be told, I think Benny was tired. He hated it here. Not that I'm saying what happened was a good thing, but... I hope he's in a better place now than this. He deserves  _ that.” _

“Or he’s just dead,” Dean says sharply, and then feels a little bad. “Kinda hard to believe in a happily ever after, don’t mean to shit on your beliefs.”

Garth offers Dean his toast as a truce. “It's okay. This place just feels a lot emptier without them, and I guess that's my way of hoping they're  _ both  _ in better places.”

“Speaking of empty, any idea what’s gonna happen with my cell now that Jask found greener pastures?”

The shutdown is instant. Garth drops his eyes to the table and shifts in his seat, then glances around him like he's going to get smacked for even  _ thinking  _ whatever it is. “I — don't ask me that. Please.”

“Garth. Look at me,” Dean says quickly.  _ “Look _ at me. Don’t you think I’ve been through enough? Least you could do is fucking help me out if you know somethin’.”

Honestly, the panic on Garth’s face answers his question before the words are even out of his mouth: “I-Ishim. He's somehow pulled some strings, he… he’s going to be your new cellmate.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s entire body tenses and his appetite vanishes. “Am I in hell? I have to be, right?” He laughs almost manically. “This is... wow... you’re probably right. There _is_ a man upstairs and he fucking hates me.” 

He shoves his tray away and it clatters to the floor, scaring the shit out of Garth. The look on his face makes Dean pause just long enough to apologize before darting out of the cafeteria to find a guard — literally any guard at this point, anyone that might be able to help — and he finds Frenchie just outside the doors talking on the phone. 

A quick nod later and they're standing in their old room. Frenchie runs a hand over Dean’s chest quickly and grips his shoulder. “It’s good to see you walking around again, Weenchester.”

“Thanks. Looks like I won’t be for long though, huh? Ishim as a celly. Is this some sick fucking joke?”

Frenchie shook his head. “Non. I wish it was.” 

“You gotta help me, Frenchie. Transfer me... somethin. Please.” Dean hates begging, but he doesn't know what else to do. “If I have to stay with him... I’ll kill him. And then I’m never fucking getting out.”

“You know I cannot. I don't make those decisions, you know this.” Frenchie shifts, glancing toward the door. “But I will talk with ze others. Maybe… maybe there is something we can do.”

“Please. Fuck... I’ll do anything,” he says desperately. “I don’t want to die here, French. Tomorrow, next week, in ten years... I don’t want to fucking die here.”

He sets his jaw and flicks his eyes all over Dean’s face and down his body. “Did you miss me?”

“Course.” Dean walks closer, surprising them both when he pulls him in for a hug. It feels so good to be held, but he only stays for a moment before he pulls back. “Sorry... shoulda... I dunno, asked first. Been a long time since I had a hug.”

Frenchie just hugs him again, then grabs his face and plants an overexaggerated kiss to his cheek before stepping back. “Okay. 'it me —” he smacks his jaw a couple of times — “Right 'ere.”

“What? Why?” Dean doesn't get it right away, but it clicks after a moment. “I don’t wanna hit you. Go get MM,” he jokes. 

“Non. 'E will 'it you back. Do it!” Frenchie hisses, tapping his own jaw again rapidly.

“Fuck…” Dean pulls him in and kisses him just to show him he doesn’t want to, and then steps back. “Dammit. M’sorry, French.” He swings and connects with his jaw, and it cracks audibly as Frenchie stumbles backward. 

_“Ooow.”_ He rubs the spot and then huffs a laugh, trying to stretch it out. “With a right ‘ook like that, it's a wonder you need protection at all, eh? Now come on, I’m taking you to ze hole.”

“Kinda miss a different hole, but alright, boss. Cuff me.” Dean turns around and puts his hands behind his back. 

Frenchie snorts a laugh as he zip-tie cuffs him. “Maybe I'll sneak in to see you later.”

“Yeah... you should. How’s your jaw?” Dean lets him tug him toward solitary, almost smiling when Ishim sees him and cusses. 

They start walking a little slower once they're away from everyone else. “If it keeps you safe, I don't care ‘ow my jaw is.”

“Thanks. Seriously, can’t thank you enough. If I’m able to move... would I ever see you?”

He gives Dean a sad smile. “It depends on the block you get transferred to, which will be out of my control. We will see.”

~~~~

The next few days are lonely — even more lonely than before. There’s someone in the cell across from him now, and honestly, he’s Dean’s last hope for human interaction. The guards here don’t speak more than two words to him and it’s really started to weigh. “Hey... pssst. Please tell me you know English.”

“What? Why the fuck wouldn't I know English?” comes the confused reply. 

“I dunno, man. No one talks around here. I won’t ask what you did or any of that stupid shit. I just want to fucking talk to someone. What’s your name?”

He's silent for a moment, but sounds a lot friendlier when he speaks again. “Cole. Cole Trenton. You are…?”

“Dean Winchester. Where you from? In here, not out there. I just came from D.” 

“I'm over on B. Could be worse for both of us, I guess… so count your stars or whatever,” Cole says quietly. 

“What’s worse? I can’t imagine worse than D. Been trying to get moved.”

“You haven't heard about Cellblock A yet? Absolution Row?” Cole pauses. “How long have you been here?”

“Few months. I heard of Absolution Row, but nothin’ more than the name. And some devil guy... or was it angel? I dunno. What’s wrong with A? Dude there beat and rape people? Cause it’s no different than D in my eyes if that’s the case.” Dean leans back, his mood souring all over again. What if getting transferred really _will_ be worse?

Cole chuckles. “You've got a devil _and_ an angel over there, but as far as what goes on… nobody knows. The people in that go aren't ever seen again. All I've really heard is that it's the worst of all the blocks in this shithole of a prison. No one wants to go there.”

 _Okay… fuck._ “Well knowin’ my luck, I’ll be on my way there next. Have you seen ‘em? This angel guy?” 

“Once. I was working detail in the medical wing and he came in with a busted lip.” 

_Least he can bleed._ “How tall is he? I can probably take him.” Dean drops down and starts doing push-ups just to distract his hands. “Hey, uh… you… think whoever busted his lip is still alive?”

It takes Cole a moment to answer. “Probably 6, 6'1 maybe? I didn't get all that close, his eyes freaked me out. But as far as if the guy’s alive or not, who knows. Honestly, I don't know if I believe a word that's said about Absolution Row. They say Thursday's been at this prison for the last hundred years and never ages a day. Sounds like bullshit if you ask me.”

Dean chuckles. “Probably all bullshit, then. What’s up with his eyes?”

“Bluest I've ever seen. They look like… the fucking water the Titanic sank in.”

“I like blue eyes. Maybe I’ll try and get on his good side instead.” He sits back with a groan and leans his head back. “That shit doesn’t work either, though. Nothin’ works in prison. It’s just friggin purgatory.”

Cole lets out a “hear, hear!” and doesn't speak for a while. Dean’s just two stops shy of crazy when Cole finally breaks the silence again. “You uh… you ever regret whatever you did that landed you in here?” 

“No,” Dean says quickly. “Not at all. I regret getting caught and underestimating that friggin agent. But I don’t regret what I do. I fucking help people. That’s all I ever wanted to do. Now... I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

“Well,” Cole says with a sigh, “you're not exactly alone there. No one knows what they're doing in here.”

“Just trying to not get time added. I could stay in my block, but I'll either kill him or _get_ killed. He tried once already, there’s just no other way it ends.”

One of the guards yells for them to keep it down, but Cole barely lowers his voice. “Whoever it is, fuck that guy. Most of us are just trying to keep our heads down, do our time and go back home. I never understood why some of these dickheads feel the need to start shit all the time.”

“Cause they’re miserable lifers. They don’t want other people having anything good. They don’t want people havin’ hope or a future. It’s shitty.”

Cole grunts. “And now you know why I spend all my time here. I'm in for at least 25, but I'd rather spend it in here than out there.”

“I’ve been here a few days and I’m dying. Guess I need too much attention for the hole.” Dean chuckles at how true that really is, then tries to find a way to keep Cole talking for that exact reason. “You get people to talk to here often or do they just get kinda quiet after a while?”

“Most never say anything at all, or they just scream incoherently until someone brings ‘em meds to knock ‘em out. At least those nights, I actually get some sleep.”

“You really sell the place, buddy.” Dean laughs and shakes his head, tipping it back against the cold wall. “Guess we’ll see where I end up.”

~~~~

When his week is finally up, Dean’s exhausted of everything and feels a little broken. Cole was right, the screams made sleeping impossible there and not knowing his future is weighing heavier than if he was going back to Ishim. At least then, he’d have an answer. 

Mother’s Milk comes to get him when his time’s up, cuffing him again. “Still firin’ on all cylinders, Winchester?”

“Maybe? How many did I show up with again?” Dean walks out of the cell and takes a breath of air. It’s still stuffy, but better than where he just was. “Where am I goin’?”

“Right now, you're going to the office. Frenchie threw a fit until the warden finally agreed to move you, had me and Butch and even Lamplighter in on the damn thing. You gotta make a choice and sign some papers, so… no one can really answer that question but you.” He leads him down a hallway Dean’s never been down before. 

“Well, alright then.” Dean looks around like the nosey ass he is, asking dumb questions about photos on the walls until it looks like M’s ready to hit him. Even then, he nearly doesn't shut up — but he needs all the guards on his side that he can get. 

They get to the office and Frenchie’s waiting inside, pacing and chewing the skin around his thumbnail. He walks over instantly, lifting Dean’s eyelids like he expects to see pits of darkness instead of irises, then steps back and clears his throat. “This is Warden Edgar. Warden, this is Dean Weench—”

“I know who he is,” he cuts in. “That's why we're here, isn't it? To somehow force my hand into catering to hardened criminals?” The warden raises his eyebrows and Frenchie shuts up. 

MM steps closer and nods his head. “Warden, if I'm not needed…”

“Go.”

He leaves, and Dean shifts on his feet. “Mr. Warden... Sir.” 

Edgar looks him up and down and exhales hard through his nose. “Serge here tells me that it's in the prison system’s best interest to move you before we have yet another dead inmate on our hands. I'm inclined to agree with him, particularly because he had so much support. Now, I'm going to do something I don't normally do. I'm going to let you choose. You can either stay in solitary until something changes — you'll be let out for meals and yard time, but constantly supervised… or, you can go to the only other cellblock willing to take you in.”

“I choose the cellblock. I don’t care which one, just not D and not friggin solitary. I won’t last in there either —” he blushes — “Sir.”

Nodding, Edgar scribbles something down and slides the paper over. “Then sign here. Effective immediately, you're being transferred to Cellblock A. I'll have someone get your effects.”

 _Absolution Row._ Dean actually chuckles — he knew that was going to be his new home before he even said it. He still gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that says he's going from bad to worse and leans in to mutter to Frenchie: “Well… here’s to this experience being consistent.”

~~~~

Dean’s taken to a completely different part of the prison, this time by Frenchie, and they walk slowly like somehow they both know this is the end of the line for them. When they approach the barred gate blocking off Cellblock A, Frenchie turns to him. “The guards in there, they won't let visitors come.”

“Sounds welcoming.” Dean licks his lips, huffing a bitter laugh. “It was nice knowin’ ya. Thank you for everything. Maybe I’ll see you again someday.” He looks around quickly and leans in for a quick kiss, but Frenchie doesn't let him pull away just yet. 

“I don't know anything about A. If you're in trouble in there, put a note under the flowerpot in the shed outside. You are too pretty to die in here.” He lets him go, backing up slowly as the gate lock clicks open. “Take care, Weenchester.”

“Too pretty to die anywhere,” he winks. “Thanks, French. 

He takes a moment to watch that ass walk away, then sighs as he steps through the gate. It seems weird as shit that Frenchie didn't take him the whole way, but the moment the gate shuts behind him, he's greeted by another prisoner. 

“You Winchester?” he asks. “I'm your new roommate, Lee. Welcome to Absolution Row.”

“Um... okay. Yeah, I’m Dean. Where am I goin?” He motions further in. “Be nice not to be the new kid that gets lost lookin’ for my cell.”

Lee claps him on the back and guides him forward, chuckling quietly. “We don't have cells here, we have dorms, but I get what you mean. Come on, we'll get the Devil to get those cuffs off you and get you settled in, someone else already dropped off your shit.”

“Dorms? Feels like I’m goin’ to college.” He huffs a laugh as they walk forward. “Did you say the friggin devil? He a guard?”

“Yeah, we call him that, but he's harmless. All bark and no bite, you know the type. He just kinda _looks_ like the devil, his eyes are that real red-brown color. Looks kinda creepy when the lights dim.” He leads Dean past a much bigger, nicer looking rec area than the one in D, then down a hallway with solid doors. “This is us.” He taps the third door down on the right and opens it up, and it actually does look like a college dorm — two actual beds, a desk, and a door that might be to a closet.

“Okay, so people never come back from here because they love it or what?”

Lee laughs. “Pretty much. Thursday has worked his ass off to keep this place a secret, or else everyone would want to transfer over here. But the real reason they’re never seen again is because they stay here until they leave, and they don't repeat offend.”

“Sounds too good to be true. And who’s this Thursday guy?”

A low, deep voice sounds from behind them: “That would be me.” 

Dean looks back quickly, his hand out in defense. He’s instantly on guard and moves so his back is to a wall. “So what, all the other days of the week were taken?” He huffs a laugh, telling himself to shut up, but Thursday just turns the corner of his mouth up.

“That's funny. I've been here a long time, and I don't remember anyone ever making that joke.” He steps in further, nodding to Lee. “Do you have everything you need?”

Lee grins. “Sure do. It'll be nice to have a roommate again, too.”

Dean takes in Thursday for the first time. He gets what Cole meant about his eyes, but they don’t scare him... not at all. In fact, he feels drawn to them. Drawn to Thursday in general. He notices how handsome the man is and wonders what team he bats for, but he knows this isn’t the time or place to ask. “What happened to your last one? He go home and live happily ever after?”

“Yes,” Thursday says simply. “He was released over a month ago, actually. He sent us a picture of him at his daughter's birthday party a couple of days ago, it's the first one he's attended in years.”

“That’s sweet.” Dean’s still on guard, he can’t help it. “So... you gonna make me blow you now, or…”

Thursday twitches, but covers it by leaning against the doorframe. “No. Though I'm sure that someone of your —” he flicks his eyes down Dean’s body — _“physique_ probably got quite good at it in Cellblock D, that's not how things are done here. You will be expected to do your part, to show up for your assigned classes, attend meetings, and do your work, but you will not be expected — or permitted — to touch any of the guards. What you do with your fellow prisoners is none of my concern, though there are bottles of lubricant in the drawer in the rec area. You don't need to waste your commissary money.”

Dean just kinda stands there, his eyes flicking between the two men like he’s waiting for the punchline — but when nothing else comes, he just nods. “Okay.”

“Speaking of which, you can take the night to get settled in, but tomorrow, we’ll figure out where you fit in here. We don't associate with the rest of the prison for obvious reasons; I don't see eye to eye with the warden on how things should be run, so I do things my way here, he does things his way over there. Think of this less as a sentence and more as an opportunity.” He turns to leave, but stops, turning his head over his shoulder to glance back. “But please be warned, this is not a free-for-all. If you exude the same types of behaviors that you did in Cellblock D, you will be punished accordingly. This _is_ still a prison, after all.” 

When the door shuts behind him, Lee bursts out laughing. “You should see your face.”

“Shut up.” Dean chuckles with him. “What behaviors is he takin’ about, anyway? I was a friggin angel in D.”

“You punched a _guard._ News like that travels around here, even to us.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sits down. “Damnit, French. That isn’t what it seems, but you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“I don't think it matters what I believe. All that matters is what you do now that you're here. Stay on Thursday’s good side, and you'll have it made when you get out. Most cons end up on the streets or right back in jail, but not Thursday’s guys. He’ll have you suited up with a PhD by the time you walk out of here.”

“And I don’t have to suck him off? Like ever?” he asks in an unsure tone. 

“Jesus, what happens to you guys out there?” Lee makes a face. “No, I've been here for almost five years and I've never had to suck anyone off. And I'm already working on my second degree.”

“Exactly what you think happens.” Dean looks down at his hands and frowns. “Good for you, man. That’s awesome. When you gettin’ out?”

Lee rolls to grab the calendar off the wall. “With good behavior, I should be out in a couple of years. I got fifteen, but Thursday's made damn sure I won't have to serve all of it. How many inmates can go to their parole hearing and say that while behind bars, they became the first member of their family to graduate college?”

“Slim to none.” Dean stands up and cracks his back. “Can you give me a tour? I need a shower. Solitary gives like one shower a week. Shit’s brutal.”

He points to the door in the corner. “Your stuff is in there, and yeah. I'll take you to the showers.” He gets up, waiting for Dean to grab his caddy and a change of clothes, then leads him out of the dorm and down another hallway. 

The showers are completely different from the ones in D — there are individual stalls with curtains for privacy instead of one big row of showerheads. 

“Jesus... am I still in solitary? Is this all in my head?” he asks as he strips. Lee just laughs and gives him the room, and Dean takes a long, hot shower for the first time in months. 

When he comes out in his gray sweats and a white t-shirt, he finds Lee waiting for him just outside. “Feel better?”

“Hell yes. Well... almost. I need some grub.”

Lee checks the clock and jerks his head back the way they came. “Dinner starts soon. Come on.”

They drop the caddy off back in the room and Dean tries to fix his hair as they head to the cafeteria. All in all, this room looks almost the same as the ones shared by the other cellblocks, but the prisoners all look… happy. It makes him smile a little as he walks over to get his food. “So, people don’t steal other people’s food here either?”

“Not unless they want Thursday on their ass. That's one of his biggest pet peeves. There's more than enough for everyone, there's no reason to steal. Yet... some still try.” He nods to two prisoners just starting to bicker in the corner — but Thursday happens to enter at the same time. All he does is raise a single eyebrow and the guy that started the fight backs off, muttering an apology to both of them.

Dean huffs a laugh. “That eyebrow is hot. I’d do whatever he says too... if y’know what I mean.” He takes a bite, trying not to feel too at ease here because he knows how quickly things can turn in prison, but it's hard not to relax. 

“The guy's basically a monk. He never leaves, he's got a dorm here just like the rest of us, and if he's sleeping with a prisoner… they're keeping their damn mouth shut about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna try,” he lies. “Was just sayin’. If circumstances were different... he’s definitely my type... which is to say he’s out of my league.” _I always want what I can’t have._

Lee ruffles his hair. “Buckle up, brother. It's only day one, you've got a long ride staring at Mr. Outta Your League.”

“I’d rather get off this friggin ride, but hey, I’m an opportunist.” They eat as Dean checks out the other prisoners there, and when they finish, Dean chuckles. “Surprised this place doesn’t have friggin karaoke.”

“We do. Once a month, actually. Thursday’s a big believer in the arts being rehabilitation tools, so he puts on all sorts of shit. Karaoke, comedy nights, plays. Seems to think it keeps us human in here so we’re not all a bunch of wild fuckin’ animals when we get out.”

“Well... that makes sense. I wish J got put over here. He deserved this…”

Lee just blinks at him. “Who?”

“No one. Old friend. He’s out now, so he’s doin’ good.” Dean sits back and then moves along. “So, how will he figure out how I fit?”

“He'll spend a day with you. Talking to you, getting a read on you. Figure out what you're like, what you're good at. What makes you tick. And then he'll discuss options with you the next day. Like what classes he thinks you should take, what meetings you need to go to like NA and that. He’ll assign your work detail.”

Dean gallic shrugs. “Sounds easy enough. He carry a conversation well or will it all be on me?”

“Totally depends on you and how you guys vibe. He'll probably just ask you questions all day until you wanna throat punch him. That's how it went for me,” Lee says.

“I can do questions. Am I allowed to ask him some too?”

“You can try. Can't guarantee he'll answer, but he's been pretty open with us. Might be all a bunch of bs, but I doubt it. What you see is what you get, pretty much.” Lee gets up to take his tray back and Dean follows, and Lee gives him the rest of the tour. 

All in all, it's a way nicer place than where he came from — and the fact that he can sleep without worrying for once is settling something in his bones. 

If Lee’s right and this isn't just some kind of sick, cosmic joke, then it may end up being the best thing that's ever happened to him. 

~~~~

Dean wakes up feeling like he’s in a strange new world. It smells different than D, feels different than D. But no matter how much better it feels... it’s still prison. Lee is already up and out of the room when he wakes, so Dean washes up and then goes to breakfast, sitting alone like the new kid normally does. Only difference is he doesn’t feel threatened... not like he did in D. 

“Mind if I join you?” Thursday asks, sitting before giving Dean a chance to answer. He's got his own breakfast with him, just a small cup of yogurt and a muffin.

Those blue eyes are intensely focused on Dean, and he blushes as he keeps chewing the mouthful of food he’d just shoved in his face. He licks his lips when he swallows. “Mornin’, Angel. I decided I like that better than Thursday.” He grins cheekily and takes another bite as the guy actually squirms a little in his seat. 

“I'm no angel, but then again… I suppose I'm not a day of the week, either. Did you sleep alright? I imagine it was an adjustment after your previous cell and then being in solitary for so long.”

“Definitely an adjustment, but a good one. Slept... better than most nights.” Dean decides to just be honest. “I keep waiting on the other shoe to drop.”

Thursday nods, sliding his yogurt-covered spoon in his mouth upside down. “That's understandable. Most of the newcomers here take a few days to get used to how I run things, but if you have any questions or concerns… you can always come to me.”

Again, it seems a little too good to be true — but he wonders if maybe Thursday isn’t treating him differently because he knows what happened. “So... what’d you hear about my last cell block? About me specifically.”

“Let me make something clear. What happened before will not affect how I see you or treat you. As far as I'm concerned, the moment you walked through my gate, you started over.” He sets down his spoon and turns to face Dean more directly. “With that said… I know what happened to you. And I'd die before I let something like that happen to you here.”

“Well... no one was around when _that_ happened, so…” Dean meets his eyes and sees he believes what he says, so he doesn’t push it. “Well... you wanna ask me something, or should I just keep asking you questions?”

Thursday shrugs. “What would you be more comfortable with?”

“I dunno.” Dean finishes eating and then slides his tray away. “You got a family?”

“No.” Thursday drops his eyes and licks his lips slowly, then smiles slightly. “I’ve never really had a family. What about you?”

“Yeah... I got my brother, but he’s off doin’ his own thing. Just him really. Parents are dead... got an Uncle Bobby who’s the only reason I have any commissary, but he won’t come down here... says he hates me in orange.” Dean huffs a laugh and plays with his water cup in an attempt to deflect, but Thursday doesn't budge. 

He reaches over and places a broad, cool hand on Dean’s arm. “You don't need commissary money anymore. Anything you need, you tell me. Anything currently in your fund will stay there, and you'll continue to get paid for your work detail. Whatever you have to your name when your sentence is done will be handed to you to help you start over.”

Dean looks at his hand and then meets his eyes. “Why?” he asks softly. “Why would you do that for me? Or anyone in here?” _Everyone else just sees us as animals._

Thursday purses his lips as he sits back, moving his hand. “I was called to help people, Dean. It may seem strange or unconventional to some, but I _can_ help. And knowing that, how could I ever live with myself if I didn't? I believe that no one is beneath a second chance. I've seen what happens in places like Cellblock D. And B, and C, and E… and every other prison across America. The way you were treated over there, what do you think you'd be like after ten years? Do you think you'd be able to go back to your life and make something of yourself, or do you think you'd still be angry, and scared, and violent because that's all you knew in here? You'd get out with no skills, no money, no place to stay. How would you ever get back on your feet?”

“I probably wouldn’t. I’d just go back to— never mind. I’m not used to getting anything from anyone. I’ve been on my own most my life. I raised a brother that wants nothin’ to do with how I live my life. Dad was hardly around. Even before this... nothin’ ever came easy.”

Those intense blue eyes stare right into his soul. “Will you let me help you? You're sort of stuck here either way, you might as well make the most of it.”

“I’m not gonna say no... just might take a bit to believe you just want to help me.. for nothin’ in return, y’know?” _Cause no one ever offers help for nothing._ “I know it’s different here, but I seem to be bad luck. Shit that’s worked for years always crumbles when I’m around. I break everything I touch. You sure I'm worth it?”

He takes a moment to answer. “I'm going to be honest with you. No, I'm not sure you're worth it. I'm not sure that anyone is worth it. I can only do so much, you have to be willing to do your part and help yourself. I will simply do my best to give you the tools you need and remove your obstacles. And worth it or not, I'm still going to try.”

“Really know how to butter a guy up, Angel,” Dean says with a chuckle. 

“I won't lie to you, Dean. And I expect you to be honest with me. Even if the truth is hard, I won't hide it.” He glances toward the clock. “If you're finished eating, I'd like to talk to you some more in my office.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean finishes his water then gets up and packs up their garbage, then dumps the tray. “Lead the way.”

The office is actually kind of cozy. It's definitely more welcoming than the warden’s office was, at any rate, despite the walls being bare. Thursday sits down behind his desk and gestures to the couch perpendicular to it. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you need anything before we get started?”

“Nah. Ready when you are, boss.” Dean gets comfy and eyes him — he's not sure at all what to expect anymore, every single thing that's happened since he stepped through the gate to Absolution Row has been a surprise. 

“Good.” Thursday flips through a stack of papers on his desk and pulls out a file, then spends a moment getting organized. “Tell me about yourself. What did you do before you were arrested?”

Dean chuckles. “I uh... was a hunter. Y’know... dangerous animals and such. I like to think I helped people.”

“You… did this as a profession? Hunted animals?”

“Yeah. Didn’t really get paid for it, but yeah. Animals _and such.”_ Dean met his eyes. “What does my file say?”

Thursday doesn't even glance at it. “Your arresting agent stated you were an unemployed, unhinged psychopath that shouldn't be approached without an entire S.W.A.T. team as backup. Now, I consider myself to be a decent judge of character, and I have to say… I'm not sure I understand.”

“He was kinda unhinged, if you ask me. Not to mention, he raped me too, so... maybe he shouldn’t judge. Do I seem like a psychopath?” He keeps their eyes locked. “I never hurt another human in my life. Ehh, hurt is a stretch. I’ve never _seriously_ injured another human in my life... fights don’t count.”

Genuine shock and concern cross Thursday’s face. It's clear he didn't know about that particular atrocity, and it just makes Dean more uncomfortable. _Thought he knew everything._

“How many times has that happened to you, Dean?”

Dean shuts down. “I dunno. Can we talk about somethin’ else?” 

“Of course.” Thursday clears his throat, dropping his gaze back to the files — but it's clear he's not really seeing them anymore. “What did you do for fun? What were you good at, other than hunting?”

 _Hunting._ Dean huffs. “To be honest, there wasn’t a lot of downtime with my job. It completely took over my life, so when I came here... I realized that I never really took the time to just enjoy life. It’s too late now, but... I dunno, maybe when I’m out I’ll find something I'm good at that isn’t hustling pool. Speaking of, is there a pool table here?”

“No.” He makes a note and pinches his brows together. “Any addictions? Gambling? Drugs? Alcohol? Sex?” 

“Nah. Gambling was just to get by. Not like I was paid for my job. None of the other stuff, though.” _Not really, anyway._

Thursday sets his pen down. “You said your brother doesn't approve. Why?”

“Because he wants to live a normal life. He’s a lawyer in the Bay Area and he’s never been shy about how he feels.”

“And… hunting was more important to you.” Thursday frowns slightly. “Walk me through a normal day before you were detained.”

Dean shakes his head slightly. “You... wouldn’t believe me. No one ever does, so I learned to just... not say it. I traveled all over the US to where I was needed, and you can’t really have a normal life with all that traveling y’know?”

“I understand. Why don't you tell me what you'd like to do after you leave here? Ideally, what do you want your life to look like?”

He takes a long moment to actually think about that. What _would_ he want to do in ten years? “Uh well... I don’t wanna go back to what I was. All it got me was this... and banned from a few bars along the way. I kinda wanna work on cars. I have this Impala... man, she’s a beauty. I rebuilt her from the ground up.” Dean’s face lights up as he remembers the rumble of the engine. “Man, I miss that car.”

“Do you have any interest in opening your own garage? Or do you think you'd rather leave the business end to someone else?”

“I dunno... I’ve never thought it was possible, so I didn’t give it much thought. As of right now, I’d rather leave the business end to someone else and just get dirty... I dunno if I'm smart enough for the business part.”

Thursday shifts and moves some papers around until he's pulling out a packet. “I’ll be the judge of that. We’ll start you off with some basic courses, just to get your feet wet again, then move you to business-oriented classes. How does that sound?”

“Okay.” Dean rubs his palms on his pants and clears his throat. “I don’t like tests. They make me all shifty.”

His laugh is low and deep, sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. “You're not alone. I'll help you out in any way I can. We'll also see about getting you involved in a vocational automotive technology class, or maybe just get you some hands-on experience. A friend of mine takes care of the fleet of vehicles assigned to this prison. I could see if he’ll take you on as your work detail assignment. Would that be okay?”

“Hell yeah.” Dean sits forward with a grin. “Is a high school diploma required for these classes? Cause I uh... dropped out,” he says with a blush. 

“Yes, but we can work on getting your GED first. We've got time, Dean. We don't need to rush.” He scribbles some more and sighs quietly. “Okay. I'll see what I can do about getting that in motion, and in the meantime… you can relax. Would you consent to me calling Bobby?”

That seems like an odd request, but that in and of itself seems par for the course here in A. “Yeah, of course. He’s kinda grouchy though... just a warning.”

Thursday laughs. “Dean, I work with hardened criminals on a daily basis. I think I can handle a grumpy uncle. For today, why don't you shadow Azrian? He works in the kitchen. You can help prepare dinner, and then once you eat, you're free for the rest of the day. I'm going to try and get ahold of Bobby and we'll talk more tomorrow, if that's okay.”

“Alright. Can I eat food while serving, or is that not cool?”

“You can eat before or after, not during. Azrian will guide you. Just... don't let him fool you, he likes to make up stories about me.” He smiles slyly and stands up, tucking the files away save for one page.

Dean stands up and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Alright... I’ll just uh... bye.” He slips out, getting lost on his way to the kitchen — but hey. No one was around to see it, so it didn't really happen… right? 

~~~~

Azrian greets him like he was expecting him. “Hey, come on back. Most of the work is already done, and I'm guessing you won't be with me full time, but I'll show you the ovens and stuff anyway. I’m Azrian, by the way.”

“Dean. You seem... happy. You like it back here?” He follows, looking around nosily and checking out Az's ass with a grin. 

“Certainly beats some of the alternatives, and I'd rather be here than where I came from.” He points out some of the industrial-sized equipment and shows Dean where the sink is. “Block C was a nightmare for me.”

“D was a cakewalk... if cakewalks had blood and rape.” Dean has a feeling that Azrian’s nightmare was the same as his own and is simply trying to tell him he understands — and judging by the shadows that cross his face, he's pretty sure he hit the mark.

Azrian licks his lips slowly and flicks his gray eyes all over Dean’s face. “I'm not surprised. Sorry you had to deal with all of that, but you’re safe here now.”

“Yeah? Sounds like it. Does anyone get laid at all around here, though? Preferably consensual. You’d think somethin’ like that would slow down my uh... _appetite..._ but honestly, it hasn’t.”

His cheeks flush. “Yes. Believe it or not, it's actually encouraged over here. Thursday seems to think it helps us stay focused and keeps our agression levels lower, and from what I've seen, it works. Just a shame eighty percent of this block isn't gay... not even prison gay.” He shifts on his feet and swallows. “Are you?”

“Prison gay?” Dean chuckles. “I like both, always have. I didn’t really admit it to myself until a few months before I got tossed in here, but... I had some fun before that. What about you? Gay or prison gay?”

Azrian grins as he grabs a stack of trays. “Definitely gay. Always have been. I thought going to prison wouldn't be all that bad, but—” his smile fades — “well, you said yourself you know.”

“I didn’t think it’d be that bad, either. I’m 6’2 for Christ’s sake, never _once_ thought I’d be the bitch, y’know? Even came in willing, but... they don’t want willing, they want power.” He shrugs and keeps helping him with trays. “You got a boyfriend or husband or somethin’?”

Azrian suddenly looks down at his stomach and trips in the process, nearly dumping the stack he was carrying but catches them at the last second. “I don't, no. I was kinda dating this guy before, but he ditched me when I got arrested. I can't really blame him. Do you?”

“Nope. How long you got in here?” 

“Been here for four, so... I don't know. Another twelve? Maybe less if Thursday's as good as he says he is.” Az wipes his sweaty palms on his pants after putting the trays down. “It's a while, either way.”

“Ouch. I got ten, so I hope he's _better_ than he thinks he is. I'd rather not be almost forty when I get out.”

They don't have much more time to talk after that — the cafeteria starts to fill up and a line forms, and Az gets to work right away. He hands Dean a serving spoon and puts him in charge of the mashed potatoes. It's an effort to remind himself that he's not allowed to eat while on the job, but the second the other prisoners are fed, he eats about three times what he normally would.

It's hard not to notice the way Azrian’s staring at him. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit he was at least a little interested, and Az gives off such strong bottom vibes that he knows he won't have to worry about it. The thought is definitely tempting. 

As they're cleaning up, Dean decides to take a shot. “You been laid at all since you got here?”

“I've only actually been in A for about six months. I almost died over in C, and when I woke up, I was here. But no, not since moving over here.” He steps a little closer to Dean and cocks his head to the side with a tiny little smirk. “Why, are you offering?”

“Maybe,” Dean grins. “When and where?” _No harm in takin’ the edge off for both of us, right?_

Azrian lets out a breath as his eyes widen like he hadn't been expecting Dean to offer. “Um... right now? I don't care where. The kitchen? My dorm? My roommate has a night shift today. He won't be there.”

Dean looks around the kitchen and bites his lip. “Maybe your dorm first... then here another time. You got a preference?”

His cheeks flush again. “At this point? No, I won't be picky. But before... yes. I'll be surprised if you don't already know what that is, I can't seem to turn it off.”

Part of Dean is surprised that he's not a little disappointed by that, but most of him realizes he might never be ready to bottom again after what Ishim did. “I’ll take care of you, Az. You got lube?” 

“No, but there's some in the rec area you can grab. I'm just gonna head to the showers real quick, I don't think you want me covered in week-old grease.” He flashes Dean a dimpled smile and takes his apron off, giving him his first real look at the lines of his body. 

“Meet you in rec then, yeah?” Dean winks as Azrian leaves, then ditches his own apron and heads for the rec room. 

He's still rooting through the drawers being nosey in his quest when he hears Thursday behind him. “Bottom drawer next to the wall, if you're looking for lubricant. I take it things with Azrian went well?” There's an edge to his voice that Dean can't place, but when he turns around to face him, he could almost swear it’s jealousy he sees on that gorgeous face. 

“Huh? What? Who?” Dean blushes and shakes his head. “Nah... I was just curious.” His eyes shift around and he walks to sit on the couch. “This is a nice area,” he says, trying to be sneaky and change the subject. 

Thursday rolls his eyes, grabbing a bottle and tossing it to Dean. “There's a reason I sent you to the kitchens, Dean. You're allowed to have sex.”

“Yeah?” Dean still tries to play it off, but he pockets the lube anyway. “What about you? You ever get laid?”

“No. I spend all of my time here, and it would be borderline disgusting for me to have sex with a guard, and wildly inappropriate to do so with an inmate. Particularly this group, considering all of your previous experiences. It doesn't mean I don't still understand desire, though. Wanting intimacy is a normal part of being human.”

Dean stands up and walks closer. He can't help it, for some reason… he wants to test that steely resolve. “I could help you out with that, y’know. Not inappropriate if I offer, right?” He licks his lips and meets those blue eyes, losing himself in them for a few moments.

The guard holds his ground, shaking his head. “It’s inappropriate no matter what. How would you ever believe I'm genuinely trying to help you if we go down that road? I'm not like the guards in D, Dean. I won't be.” 

Yet, Dean would be an idiot if he missed the hungry look in those eyes. _Yeah, buddy… nice try. You want me just like everyone else._

“I already know you aren’t. And they weren’t all bad, y’know. Frenchie’s one of the best dudes I’ve ever met. He’s why I'm here.”

“I'm aware. But you should know that he pushed for you to stay in solitary so he could still see you. That's why you were offered a choice. When I heard about what happened, I tried to insist you be brought to me straight from medical. I received pushback and didn't know from who until after you were already in the hole.” He shifts. “I will never put you in a position where I'm putting my own selfishness in front of your well-being. _That_ is why I don't sleep with prisoners, Dean.” 

“Good to know.” It seems like a kind of stupid line to draw to Dean, but he respects the guy for sticking to his guns. He's just about to tell him as much when Azrian comes around the corner looking wet and delicious, and Dean forces himself to push his irritation at Frenchie and lust for the untouchable guard down to focus on what’s real and right in front of him. 

He follows Azrian back to his dorm and goes to work the moment the door shuts behind them. Az ends up being super responsive and incredibly vocal — two things that Dean happens to appreciate — and he challenges himself to see how quickly he can get Az off. 

It takes him less than five minutes once he finds that sweet spot and pins Azrian down. Dean kinda hopes Thursday's close enough to hear it when Az comes, screaming his name… but just in case he's not, Dean doesn't let up. 

“Again,” he growls, pulling Azrian's face toward his own to kiss him. Az whines but bucks into his hand, his cock still thick with need. 

It actually feels so damn good that Dean has trouble holding himself back before he manages to draw that second one out, but they come together that time and Dean collapses down with a sated laugh. “Damn. I knew I'd like kitchen duty for the food, just didn't expect to get fed more ways than one.”

“Bullshit,” Azrian laughs. “Don't lie, I know how obvious it is when I want someone. You probably knew the second you saw me.”

 _Not really what I meant, but you're not wrong._ Dean kisses him again and stays for a bit to hold him, knowing that was something they'd both been lacking recently. It feels a little hollow though, and Dean knows then this was probably a one-time thing. Az seems like the type of guy that needs — and deserves — more attention than Dean can give him, and that's not fair to him. “Whoever snags you is gonna be a lucky guy,” Dean says, hoping that gets his point across without him being a dick.

“Shame the best years of my life will be wasted in here then.” Az rolls to face him and looks up, a look of quiet resolution on his face. “I take it this was a one-time thing?”

 _Great. I still get to be the asshole._ “I'm not rulin’ anything out. Just think you deserve better than me, y'know? This is fun and all, but I don't have anything to give you. You seem like a good dude, just don't wanna give you the wrong impression.”

He's glad that Az doesn't say the obvious _“but how do you know you're not right for me? We just met”_ spiel, and it's because of his easy acceptance that Dean ends up staying there longer than he means to. _Sue me for soaking up the comfort while I can._

When he finally leaves Azrian’s room, it's nearly lights out. He passes Thursday in the rec area again but the guy doesn't even look his way — and Dean refrains from saying something along the lines of “think anyone heard that?” because he's sure they did, and he doesn't want to hear the lecture if Thursday isn't going to hand it out without prompting. 

He heads straight back to his dorm after a quick shower like a good little inmate and finds Lee laying on his bed reading a book. They don't talk much at all, and when the lights go out for the night, Dean has a harder time sleeping than he did that first night. 

It's starting to seem like more than just his surroundings changed when Dean made the transfer to Absolution Row, and honestly… he's really not sure how he feels about that.

####  **Castiel**

Twice. 

Twice Cas leans against Azrian’s cell door to listen. Twice he gives in to those urges, that desire to touch and be touched. Dean sounds like he's every bit as good as Cas imagined, and even after forcing himself to walk away the first time… curiosity and need bring him back. _I'm an angel, not a saint,_ he reminds himself. _I still won't touch him, won't take him up on that offer. I can still help him, I just…_

He sucks in a breath and hears footsteps approaching from across the block. Most of the inmates are either at work detail, in classes or meetings or already in bed, so he's startled when he hears them. Getting caught listening to inmates having sex would be extremely detrimental to not just his reputation, but to the program he's set up as a whole. 

Gabriel walks around the corner just as Cas makes it a few doors past the noises. “Cassie,” he scolds with a knowing grin. “What are you doing down here?”

“It's not of import,” he responds. “I… thought I heard something.” Cas walks forward, brushing past his brother with a confidence he no longer feels. Gabriel follows until they're safely back in the confines of his office, then rounds on him. 

_“You_ were listening to the new guy get his rocks off.”

There's no point in denying it. With Gabriel being who he is, he'd sense the lie before it even left Castiel’s lips. He sits down in a heap, covering his face with his hands. “I couldn't stop myself.”

“Of course you couldn't,” Gabe says. “You haven't been laid in over a hundred years, it was bound to bite you in the ass eventually. Especially considering what a dirty little slut you were before you went all holy on us.”

Things were simpler then. Gabe’s right, before he decided to dedicate his existence to helping prisoners, he'd gone down a pretty dark road himself. Humans, monsters, other angels… demons. Cas had tried them all, and loved them all. But Dean? It’s almost cruel how badly Cas wants him even after just one day. “Those days are behind me, Gabriel. You know this, I think I've proven it.”

“Everybody has a breaking point, baby bro. I think you might've just met yours.”

 _Is he? Is Dean Winchester my breaking point?_ He dismisses the thought as ridiculous — it's only lust, and that will fade with time. It's not often he gets hunters within his walls, _true_ hunters — and the urge to get close to them has always been dangerous. Most hunters don't believe in angels, and even the ones that do are terrified of them. It would never work. 

“Maybe I should go out.” 

Gabe grins like he just proved a point. “We can handle things around here. Go, sow your wild oats, whatever the kids are saying these days.”

He's uncomfortable leaving the prison, even in the hands of three archangels. They're unruly when not properly supervised, and Lucifer and Michael are just as prone to fighting as the inmates themselves — but still. If he's to keep a clear head and continue to serve the prisoners the way he intends to, he needs the release. 

But maybe he doesn't have to leave the prison at all. “Go, make sure Cain doesn't do anything he’ll live to regret. He's been getting antsy lately and I'm afraid he's going to relapse. I'll be back when I can.” 

When his elder brother nods his agreement, Cas teleports himself directly into his dorm. It's the only soundproof room in the entire wing, and because of that, he's hardly ever in here. Part of what makes Absolution Row so successful is Cas’ ability to hear things and stop them before they get out of control — but he keeps the room to explain why he never leaves and keep up the appearance of being human. 

He knows he doesn't have much time. Dean and Azrian will be done soon, Gabriel can't be trusted to be in charge for long, and he doesn't trust _anyone_ enough to stay out of earshot for more than a few minutes at a time… but still. This is a pleasure he hasn't allowed himself in over fifty years, and he wants to enjoy it. 

Cas strips himself naked until there’s nothing covering his skin but the tattoos that adorn nearly every inch of his body. Tattoos for lost loves, for past missions, fallen brethren. For the prisoners that have made his life mean something. 

The urge to trace his fingers over them wins out, and he closes his eyes as he allows himself to imagine it’s Dean’s hand roving over his skin instead of his own. In his mind, bright green, teasing eyes light up as Cas’ cock thickens, and he can almost hear that playful voice. _“I can help you out, y’know.”_

 _Do it, then. Help me. Fuck… please help me._ His hips cant off the bed as he chases a phantom touch, and it's been so long since he's felt real, tangible hands on him that it's hard to recreate the feeling. He slides his own palm down and grips his length as the Dean in his mind wraps his mouth around it. That pretty, sassy, incorrigible mouth sinks lower until Cas’ cock is sheathed entirely, and the moan he lets out rivals Azrian’s. 

_What does that tongue feel like, Dean? Show me what you can do… show me what was making Azrian sound like that._ As the vision of Dean moves faster, sliding that glorious tongue all over Cas’ cock until his chin is coated with saliva, Cas pictures himself gripping his hair and shoving himself back in fully. 

His hand moves faster as Dean gags around him, and before he knows what's happening, he's rolling over and bracing himself on one hand as he fucks into his fist, letting the tip of his cock drag along the pillow below him. _He'd look so beautiful below me like this… fuck, I —_ His body shakes slightly as he moves his hand and lowers himself down fully, grinding his hips so his cock slides between the firm pillow and his own stomach. Azrian’s voice becomes his own as he babbles praises on how tight Dean is, how _good_ Dean is, how pliant and responsive and — 

Cas lets go with a grunt, picturing himself filling Dean’s beautiful ass. He didn't stay long enough to hear Dean get off, and he knows his imagination won't do it justice anyway — so the fantasy fades quickly and Cas waves a hand to clean up the mess. 

He dresses slowly after that, piece by piece, telling himself with every article of clothing, radio and weapon he’s donning that he's putting back on that facade. That what just happened here can never happen again. Fantasies can be dangerous if they're left unchecked and allowed to run rampant, and the thin line protecting reality can start to blur. 

Saint or not, Cas knows better than to blur lines. He'd tried it once with Cain — the first prisoner he took an interest in. The man is nearly as old as Castiel himself, and while trying to alter memories and paperwork over the years to avoid anyone shaking too many questions has been tiring, it also isn't the worst thing. 

They'd been in love at one point, or… as in love as a fallen angel and the father of murder could be. Truthfully, Cain would never get over his first love, and Cas… well, all he knew was that even then, it wasn't right. He was waiting for something, some _one,_ and Cain was just filling a void. 

They'd met originally when Cain had unleashed the last of his Knights on the world. Even being an angel, Cas hadn't been much of a match for the Knight that could only be killed by the First Blade, and he'd gone to Cain in an attempt to take his Mark. Things had escalated from there, and while the details have mostly faded from Cas’ memory, they'd started something of an affair that lasted decades. 

But Cas had been found out — someone in his garrison had told his superiors of their connection, and he was thrown from Heaven. Desperaged, Cas fucked his way through Heaven, Hell and Earth trying to forget… but it never quite worked. 

At some point during his spiral, his brothers had all but dismantled Heaven and the remaining angels dispersed, but Cas was far removed from that world by then. 

The hookups became even more meaningless and he fell even further until finally, he met a prisoner by the name of Meg. She was a demon and largely there by choice, but her experiences led Castiel down a new path. His salvation. 

His _own_ absolution. 

He dedicated what was left of his existence to helping prisoners and trying to make the world a better place. It spoke to his angelic beginnings and gave him an opportunity to do what he always believed angels _should_ do — help humans. Guide them. Absolve them of their sins and lead them down the road to _their_ salvation.

Cas abandoned his old ways that day and became what he is now — someone worthy of the name the Angel of Thursday. When Cain arrived at his prison, he'd thought maybe they'd be able to rekindle that old spark, but all he managed to do is cause him pain. Cas could never be what Cain needed, and trying to force it only led to weeks in solitary and Castiel nearly getting fired. 

It was then that he started using his particular skillet to manipulate the warden and the other guards. Brick by brick, deception by deception, he built Absolution Row. He swore off relationships and sex and anything at all that wasn't done strictly in the service of bettering lives, and that decision nearly broke Cain. 

To this day, Cain is the worst of the prisoners Castiel oversees. He's violent and angry and mostly kept separate from the others, but there's no choice — he can't be killed, can't be contained in Heaven without a legion of angels to guard him, and can't be trusted in hell. Here, with three archangels and Cas, they do their best to keep him as docile as possible, but it weighs heavily on Cas every day. 

He couldn't help Cain. Getting involved with him again had only made things worse… and Cas refuses to make the same mistake with Dean. He will not fail Dean the way he failed Cain… no matter what it costs him.

When he finally pulls himself out of his memories, he's standing in front of his door with his hand on the knob. He's had his moment now, had his chance to dive in and lose himself in the fantasy — but the moment that door opens, it'll be lost. _If nothing else… maybe when he gets out… these years will be a blink to someone like me, we could — No._ Again, he snaps himself out of it. It's ridiculous that he's even thinking such things when he barely knows Dean at all, and that right there should be a red flag… but the trouble is, Cas has never been very good with those. 

Cas takes one final look at the bed and leaves the room. Things are silent in Azrian’s dorm as he passes, and he heads straight for the rec area to restock the lube and anything else that might be low. The best thing he can do for himself now is keep busy, stay focused, remind himself every second of every day why he's here — which means that when Dean enters the room, he doesn't even bother looking up.

Deans pauses like he's going to say something, but Cas opens another drawer to mindlessly organize its contents until he feels Dean’s presence moving away, then sits down on the couch with a sigh. 

_One day down… nine and a half years to go._


	4. Chapter 4

A few days go by and Dean finally goes to see Thursday in his office. “Hey, Angel. You ever get ahold of Bobby?”

He nods as he gestures for Dean to sit, then gets up to close the door. “Yes, I did. We've spoken a couple of times, actually.”

“That so?” Dean sits and scratches his head. “About me?”

Thursday raises an eyebrow. “No, we talked about the stock market and the state of environmental affairs. Yes, Dean. We spoke about you, at length.” He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a plain folder, handing it over to him. “I think I've gained a little more insight into who you were before this, so I've scheduled your evenings accordingly. The calendar is on the first page.”

He takes a look at it and his eyes widen when he sees how many meetings he has to go to. Alcoholics Anonymous on Mondays, Narcotics Anonymous on Tuesdays, Gamblers Anonymous on Wednesdays, Sex Addicts Anonymous on Thursdays and fucking Anger Management on Fridays. 

Dean looks up with his jaw slack. “What hell is all this?! I don’t have a friggin anger problem!”

“And yet, you're yelling at me over a piece of paper.” He doesn't flinch. “Bobby told me some interesting stories about you, Dean. I'm willing to listen to your side, but first, I should explain why I chose those for you. I was told that due to your profession, you tend to have more aches and pains and injuries than the normal adult. You developed something of a pain pill addiction, did you not? And you're rather attached to whiskey?”

Dean sits back deflated and stares at Cas. “Fucking Bobby. No. I’m not addicted to pain pills. I been here for months and haven’t had  _ anything _ outside of my medical stay, and I didn’t have withdrawals or nothin’. Same with whiskey, no shakes. I mean, I miss it sometimes, but c’mon... doesn’t this place make you wanna drink sometimes?”

“No,” Thursday says simply. “He also told me that when you received a pretty sizeable sum of money from someone named Bela, you wanted to blow it all in Atlantic City. Is that accurate?”

“Oh, come on. This is a friggin set up. I didn’t though... if that even matters. I also never fucked her, so... why the sex addict shit here?”

Thursday takes a breath. “Bobby told me that you drowned your problems in whiskey, pills, gambling, women, and hunting, which is a violent sport. Now, if you'd care to shed some light on these things, I'd be happy to take a second look at that.”

“Fine, you want me to level with you? If any of these were any sort of a problem, I would have just stopped. I’m pretty friggin strong-willed. The gambling is bullshit, definitely not an addiction, it was just fun. Pills and whiskey... I mean... whatever. And women-slash-men Bobby didn’t even know about... look, I thought I was going to die each and every day. I was just trying to enjoy the little bit of life I had.”

“Ahh.” Thursday softens a little, but dips his head to gesture to the paper. “And the last one? Do you also believe your anger was always manageable?”

The anger in his chest at that moment makes the answer pretty easy to work out. but he shrugs, a frown still on his face. “Whatever. I could probably go to a couple of those friggin classes.”

“Okay. Then… I will cancel the other four and we’ll double up your course load Monday through Thursday. Speaking of which, I've signed you up for a revisionary course so you can get your GED. You'll have an hour a day on the computer in here to study.” 

“Awesome. Thanks.” 

Thursday nods once as he updates Dean’s file. “Well, then. Come back today at four to study. Friday is your first meeting, and… you start Monday in the prison’s garage for work detail.”

“Okay... what should I do until 4? Kitchens again?” Dean asks, honestly not sure what answer he wants to hear. 

“That's up to you. Now that you've been assigned elsewhere, you're no longer required to help in the kitchens.”

He stands up and walks to the door, pausing only long enough to look back. “Alright, then. Uh, thanks, Angel.”

“I'll see you at four.”

~~~~

In the end, Dean decides to go help Azrian out in the kitchen just to prove to Thursday he's not some lazy, addicted-to-everything, angry mess. He can see the disappointed look on Az’s face when he tells him he's just there for the lunch rush, but he seems grateful for the assistance all the same. 

When people start lining up for their food, Dean waits for Thursday — but once he gets up there, he seems to be avoiding eye contact. Dean pointedly hangs onto Thursday’s tray to draw his attention. “Long day?”

“You could say that,” he admits. 

“Well... my  _ door-m’s _ always open.” Dean grins, waiting for Thursday to laugh. “Get it? Door... dorm…”

The smile spreads slowly, but it ends up wide and gorgeous. He shakes his head with a quiet snort and sticks his hand out. “Can I have my tray back, please?”

“Okay, ya grouch.” Dean’s still grinning as he hands it over. “Keep the smile, Angel. It lights up the room.”

Thursday blushes as he takes it and lowers his gaze, but he can't seem to stop smiling. As he walks away, Az just stares at Dean. “That was interesting.”

“Why? He not smile often?” Dean asks, serving the next person. 

“Hardly ever. He's the most stoic guy I've ever met. He gets this kinda... proud look on his face when we do well, but... I've never seen  _ that _ before. Didn't even know he was capable of it. Who knew the Angel of Thursday likes puns?”

Dean chuckles and makes a mental note to pun him every chance he can, but can't help but wonder if it wasn't also the compliment. From what he's seen so far, the poor guy doesn't get many — even if Dean doesn't understand why he doesn't. He's hot enough, nice enough, and genuinely seems to give a shit about he people around him, which all sounds pretty damn worthy of compliments. But either way, if it's puns he wants, puns he shall get. “Challenge accepted, Az.”

~~~~

At five minutes to four, Dean heads to Thursday's office to wait for him and snoops around, not stopping until he hears a throat clearing behind him. 

“I see you've discovered that  _ my _ door is always open, as well.”

“Uh... yeah.” Dean walks to his seat and looks down at his fingernails. “Uh... your top drawer isn’t, though.”

“We all deserve at least a little bit of privacy, don't we?” Thursday heads over to his computer and boots it up. “Are you having any problems here? Any issues with other inmates, things you need but don't have?”

Dean grins. “Nope. Nothin’ yet. Been all good things, actually.” 

“So I've heard.” He clicks around a couple of times and then steps back, gesturing for Dean to come over. “There's a practice test here that covers the five basic subjects. Take it, and then we can assess where you're at and where we should focus your studies to prepare you for the real one. I know you said tests make you squirmy, so just try to remember that this one doesn't count.”

“Alright.” Dean walks over and leans over the desk to look at it. “Like right now?”

Thursday nods like he thought that was obvious. “Yes, you'll take the practice test now so I know which study materials to get for you. If you happen to pass all five sections, we can skip you right to the main test.”

“Shit... okay.” Dean gets settled and taps his pencil on the desk nervously as he glances over the words on the screen, then decides to just dive right in. Either he’s going to pass and that will be awesome, or he won’t, and Thursday will help him get better. 

Once he gets going, he finds it to be a lot easier than he thought. Thursday sits at his own desk rifling through stacks of papers and files as Dean takes the quizzes, and ends up getting stuck on math. He starts tapping his pencil again and looks over at Thursday in an attempt to procrastinate. “So… you have any tattoos?”

The question seems to take him by surprise, but he nods. “Yes. Most of my body is covered in them, actually. Do you?”

“Yeah I do. Can I see ‘em?” Dean sets his pencil down, fully distracted now. 

Thursday raises an eyebrow, but rolls up the sleeves on his uniform to the elbows. Sure enough, every inch of exposed skin is covered down to his wrists with strange symbols, animal heads and a piece of a map.

“These are really good,” Dean says, running a finger over the map. Goosebumps follow his finger and Thursday shivers slightly, but doesn't pull away.

“I should hope so,” he says. “I went to some of the best tattoo artists in the world for these, and all the others. What do yours look like?”

Dean knows the guy’s just humoring him, he would've seen all of Dean’s tattoos in his file already. But honestly, it's nice to be treated like a person and not an inmate for once. He shows Thursday the crown on his wrist, the Colt down his side, the anti-possession symbol that he figures makes Thursday think he's a devil-worshipper like it does everything else, and the spattering of other tattoos he's gotten along the way. He doesn't have as many as the guard claims to, but most of his upper body is decorated. 

He watches as Thursday swallows thickly, taking in Dean’s naked torso. “It looks like you had decent artists, too.”

“The good thing about traveling is I got to meet all sorts of artists,” Dean says, putting his shirt back on before Thursday can ask too many questions about the sigils. 

“That's true.” He pauses, then gives Dean a soft, knowing, kind-of-scolding look. “If you're done stalling, you should finish your quizzes. It's almost time for dinner.”

“Stalling.” Dean walks back to his seat slowly. “ _ You’re _ stalling.” He picks up the paper and sighs, the words and symbols getting jumbled in his head already. “I friggin hate math.”

Thursday frowns as he leans forward. “Just do your best, Dean. If you don't know the answer, just skip it. These are just to test your current knowledge, nothing else. Please don't stress out about them.”

“You’re not gonna think i’m dumb? I can’t even remember how to find fucking X.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and sighs, but Thursday just smiles. 

“All that tells me is that you'd be a subpar pirate,” he jokes. “We all need help in some areas, if math is the area  _ you  _ need help in, then we'll do it.”

Dean tosses his head back with a laugh. “Argh, but I get all the booty.”

That earns him one of the most epic bitchfaces he's ever seen, which only makes him cackle harder. It feels so damn good to laugh that for a moment, he can't seem to stop. 

“Just give me the quizzes, I'll look over what you've answered,” Thursday says with a barely-concealed grin. “Go eat dinner, I think you've suffered enough for one day. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean walks over and sets the papers down on the table and walks to the door. “Friendly reminder, I’d also share the booty.” He winks and leaves before Cas can respond, listening to the door click shut behind him.

Despite the mental workout he just got, that felt good — especially knowing what Azrian said about the guy never smiling. Sure seems to Dean that there's more to the Angel of Thursday than meets the eye, and that goes beyond the glimpse of tattoos he just got. 

Yeah, there's definitely more there… and Dean’s got nearly a decade to figure out what. 

~~~~

Back in his cell that night, Lee seems to actually be in a talking mood. “How have your little dates with Thursday been?”

“Awesome. He’s thinkin’ about introducing me to his mom. I mean, I think it’s too soon, we haven’t even hit first base yet but... he’s a fussy one,” Dean says sarcastically.

Lee doesn't seem to get it. “He doesn't have a mom.”

“Jesus. You called them dates, so I was just— never mind. They’re goin’ good. He tried to put me in a bunch of meetings but I proved to him I don’t have any addictions. How’s your class goin’?”

His roommate raises his eyebrows. “No addictions, huh? You some kinda unicorn? I've got a list of ‘em a mile long. Classes are going good, though. Just finding it a little hard to balance everything these days, I'm getting older.”

“You have a—” Dean frowns, wondering how someone could talk so openly about being addicted to anything at all, let alone a list of things.

“A what?”

“Why do you say you're addicted? What's that line?”

Lee pauses for a moment, looking like he's thinking it over. “Line’s different for all of ‘em, I guess. But for me, general rule is this: if I can't feel normal without it, I do something illegal to get it, or can't say no to it if it's offered freely to me, chances are I’m addicted.”

The last one is what trips Dean up, and he looks away, thinking harder about that. He can’t remember the last time he turned down ass or alcohol, though he's still pretty damn convinced he's not addicted to pills or gambling. 

He continues. “I dunno, brother. For me, it's less about the shakes and more about how willing I am to give it up in the first place. Just because your body doesn't have a negative response to stopping doesn't mean it's not having a negative impact on your life, and to me… that's just as dangerous. The meetings help the cravings.”

“Got it.” Dean’s suddenly curious about the meetings and decides he’ll ask Thursday about them tomorrow. “Maybe I’ll look into them.”

Lee smiles. “Good for you. Can't hurt, right? And depending on what you're addicted to, you're almost guaranteed those sobriety chips cause it's so damn hard to get anything illegal here. I swear, between Thursday, the Sword and the Trickster, everything fun gets snuffed out around here in seconds.”

“They give chips for the sex one? And do the chips help with like... early release, or is it just like a personal accomplishment?”

“Course it helps. Parole board wants to know we're not the same degenerate animals we came in as, and what better way to show them we're all brand spankin' new than showin' 'em we beat our demons? Everything Thursday does is to try and get us outta here sooner.”

“That’s awesome. He’s a good dude.” Dean looks over at Lee curiously. “You got a family?”

He shakes his head with a gallic shrug. “Nah. My lady left me a long time before I got arrested. Never had any kids, and my parents both died when I was just outta high school. Been kind of a nomad, y’know?”

“Hear, hear.” Dean chuckles. “I get it. No family here, either. Don’t know if I’m cut out for that, honestly.”

Lee looks at him sadly. “Most folks aren't, not really. Doesn’t stop them from trying, though. I say we should go after what we want and just make a damn effort to deserve it once we get it.”

“Good advice. You’re gonna be the wise old owl soon, Lee.” Dean smiles over at him, laying back as Lee chuckles deeply. 

“Don't I know it. Probably sooner than I'd like to admit, too,” he says. The lights dim a few moments later and Lee sighs, setting the book he was studying from on the nightstand. “Another day done.”

“Yup. See you for another round tomorrow.” Dean falls asleep soon after and wakes up with a raging hard on. It's too early for food but late enough that his cell door is unlocked, so Lee’s still asleep as he slips out to go brush his teeth and wash up. His dick is heavy in his sweats as he makes his way out of the bathroom. He walks slowly, kind of hoping to run into Thursday to mess with him — but it doesn't happen, and Dean ends up rubbing one out in his bed, trying to be quiet. 

If Lee wakes up at any point during it, he doesn't say anything, and Dean just goes back to sleep until breakfast.

~~~~

On Friday, Dean spends some time in Thursday’s office going over his GED practice test results. Sure as shit, he failed math — but the other four he passed with high enough scores that Thursday beams at him. “This is excellent work, Dean. Truly. Now, we can focus on the areas you need the most help in in math and maybe by the end of the year, you'll have your GED.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s beaming too, actually excited for the first time in years. “Maybe it’ll be my Christmas present to me.”

Thursday hums. “Would you prefer to take all five actual tests on the same day, or spread them out?”

“I dunno. I mean, can I do the ones I passed soon, and then do math last?”

“Of course. I'll schedule your reading, writing, science and social studies tests throughout the next couple of weeks and we can study for math in between, and whenever you think you're ready, I'll schedule that one, too. Any objections?”

“Nope.” Dean pops the “p,” still smiling. “So how bad did I do? Is there any hope?”

He grimaces, then laughs and nods. “Yes, there's hope. You just need a refresher, that's all.” Thursday grabs a math book from the large bookshelf behind his desk and tilts his head toward the pen and paper. “Let's see if we can't find a way to help you remember some of these formulas.”

Dean scoots over so he can sit next to him on the couch and slings his arm behind him, staring down at the book. “Did I mention I friggin hate math?”

“Yes, you have. You struggled with linear equations. Were you having trouble with the formula itself or just the execution of it?”

“Uh…” Dean scratches his head and shrugs. “I mean... I never remember what formula’s for what, and then I’m like... ‘fucking why?’”

Thursday snorts. “Language, Dean. But okay. The formula for linear equations is y = mx + b.” He writes it down, then draws a smiley face next to it. The face has a plus sign for the left eye, a minus sigh for the right eye, and x between them with a straight line down ending in a “u” for the nose, then a straight line with circles on each end for the mouth. The chin looks like a y, and he finishes it off with slanted eyebrows. “If you can remember this face, you can use it to help you remember the components of this formula.” He goes on to point out how the plus-sign eyes’ eyebrow has a left-to-right slope, making it positive, and the opposite for the negative sign eye. “The nose just reminds you that any vertical line “x” you have will have an undefined slope —” he points to the little “u” nose — “and it's value will always equal where it crosses the y axis.” 

He moves down to the mouth. “And the opposite is true here. With a horizontal line, y —” he points to the chin — “will always equal where it crosses the x axis.” Thursday draws a couple of examples, then focuses on Dean. “Does that help at all?”

“Why’s he look so sad, though?” Dean grabs the pencil and turns up the lips with a grin. “There. Still got punched in the eye, but he’s smilin’.”

Thursday looks genuinely shocked for a moment. “Dean, you can't — that line has a slope now, it defeats the whole purp—” He blinks as he sees the look of amusement on Dean’s face, then smiles in spite of himself. “Cute.”

“I know. I’m adorable.” Dean smirks, but then taps the paper. “Alright, so slopes and lines and x’s, got it. Write me a problem and let me try.”

He pulls the page back to himself and draws a graph, then a vertical line crossing the y axis at 3. “Tell me about the slope and the value of x?”

“Undefined… and… three?” Dean asks, staring at the face. “Yeah. Final answer. Gimme a hard one.” 

“Fine.” Thursday draws another line, this one curved under the y axis. “Tell me the equation of that line.”

Dean gets it wrong four times before he’s frustrated, and throws the pencil down. “Damnit!”

“It's okay. Let me show you how to use… we’ll call him Richard Cole, since you said he likes to get punched in the face.” 

_ There's no way he —  _ Dean meets Thursday’s eyes with a surprised but fond expression. “Zepp. Friggin kiddin’ me?!”

“I'd never joke about Led Zeppelin, Dean… or their road manager. He might be in his mid-seventies, but he could probably still kick my ass.” He immediately goes back to trying to explain how to use the face to solve the equation, but Dean isn’t quite done. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can kick your ass... except maybe me.” Dean nudges him playfully and then finally pays attention, and with the additional help, he gets the next three practice questions right. 

Thursday looks genuinely proud of him. “See? That wasn't so bad. We just needed to find a way for you to relate to it, that's all.”

“You’re a good teacher. I woulda been annoyed with myself by now.”

“I happen to have quite a bit of patience. It comes with the territory.” He smiles and gets up, heading back to his desk. “Go ahead and head down to dinner, but your first meeting is tonight right after.”

“Alright.” Dean gets up, but walks to his desk instead of leaving. “Uh... thank you. For... everything.”

Those blue eyes fix on his own. “Don't thank me yet, Dean. We still have a long way to go, but… we’ll get there. I promise. I'm not going to give up on you.”

Dean smiles even though he still doesn't quite believe it. There's no reason a random prison guard should give a shit the way he does — not when Dean’s been so secretive about his life before this and Bobby said so many damn things about him having a laundry list of addictions. He turns to leave without a word, wondering what it  _ will  _ take for either Dean to really believe… or for Thursday to actually give up. And most of all, he wonders which of those will happen first.

He heads into the cafeteria and makes small talk with Az, but doesn't hit on him. If he's gonna prove to Thursday he isn't a sex addict, he should probably stop acting like one — and that starts with controlling himself even when he doesn't have to. 

He gets his food and sits with Lee and a smarmy little shit named Kip, and Lee dumps his bread onto Dean’s tray. “Eat this, I'm getting flabby.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice. Told you to do push-ups with me,” he jokes, taking a huge bite. 

Kip makes a face. “If you keep gorging yourself like this, it won't matter how many push-ups you do. Might wanna take it easy on the carbs, compadre.”

“I’m a growin’ boy.” Dean hits his belly with a grin and keeps eating, not giving a shit what he says. It's not like he doesn't have time to work out now that he's locked up, and he's  _ always _ eaten like this without a problem. No way his body betrays him now.

They make small talk through dinner as Dean starts to dread anger management — he shouldn't have agreed to go, but of all the ones Thursday tried to say he needed, this is the only thing that might be of some help. 

_ I’m good without the other shit… I am.  _

_ I am. _

~~~~

Dean leaves his first Anger Management meeting thinking about all he learned. He tells himself he’ll try and catch triggers before he snaps, but that’s always been hard for him. Normally, he snaps before he even realizes what's happening.  _ Guess that's kinda the point though, huh? Wouldn't need help if I could stop it on my own.  _

It's Monday morning, which means it's time for his first actual day on work detail. When he walks into the garage, he’s excited. He can smell the grease in the air and he looks around for his boss, a guy that Thursday referred to only as his friend. “Uh… hello?”

A tall guy with eyes almost as blue as Thursday’s walks around the corner wiping his hands on a rag. “You must be Dean Winchester, right? I'm Gad, it's good to meet you.” He sticks out his hand, keeping eye contact — and it's the most normal he's been treated since arriving.

Dean takes his hand and shakes it, nodding toward the car engine in pieces. “That a friggin Hellcat?”

“Sure is. The warden bought it thinking it would be of use in a chase, but the first guard that drove it blew it up. I haven't had the extra hands to help me fix it with all the transport vans and things I work on.”

“Can I?” Dean walks over with a huge grin. “I built mine from the ground up.”

Gad looks him up and down like he's trying to gauge how serious he is. “What kinda car did you drive?”

“‘67 Impala. Engine was different of course, but I can put anything back together. Promise. I used to just tinker with them at my uncle's yard until I figured ‘em out.”

He hands Dean a set of coveralls and the key to the toolbench. “Let’s see what you've got with one of these vans first, work your way up to the Hellcat.”

“Van.  _ Pfft.” _ But Dean gets in the coveralls and does as told, and just being able to use his hands to fix something feels good — even if it also makes him miss Baby.

They work for a few hours and just when Dean’s starting to get hungry, Thursday comes out to check on them. “How's it going?”

Gad sets his tools down and cleans his hands, turning to watch Dean. He's filthy under that van but he knows he's done good, so he smirks a little as Gad gives Thursday the update. “He's better at this than I am,” he says. “You're letting me keep him, right?”

“That's the plan. I wanted him to be able to do something he's good at, and his uncle made no secret of his talent in this department.”

Dean slides out from under the van with grease all over his arms and some on his cheek. “Hi, Angel. Here to make sure I can fix a van? It’s done, Gad. Cakewalk.”

“No.” Thursday shakes his head as he signs Dean out. “I'm here to make sure you eat lunch. Bobby told me that you tend to lose track of time working on cars.”

“Lunch time already? Alright. Thanks.” He goes to wash up, running his wet hands through his hair as he comes back out. “Bobby give you my life story?”

“We... might have spoken more than once.” Thursday smiles a little and says goodbye to Gad, then leads Dean back inside toward the cafeteria. 

“Feels weird. Like you’re talkin’ to my parents after class.” He chuckles and bumps him softly. “What else he tell you? That I love pie more than him?”

Thursday straightens his tie with a smile. “Yes, he may have mentioned that. We talked about ways to reward you that don't involve contraband or sex. I have to admit, it wasn't a long list we came up with.”

“So, you won’t give up the booty when I get my GED, huh?” Dean teases, licking his lips. 

There's an actual moment where Dean thinks he's finally gotten to him — but Thursday barely misses a beat as he buzzes them in through the gate. “No. Even if I would be considering such a thing, you'd have to do a lot more than get your GED. I'm impossible to please, haven't you heard?”

“I don’t buy that.” Dean steps in closer as they squeeze through the doorway. “I  _ know _ I could please you, Angel.”

Thursday licks his lips, stopping dead in his tracks. “I expect you to. Just not sexually. Keep your nose clean and work hard, and I'll be very pleased with you, Dean.”

Dean huffs a laugh and continues walking, not pushing anymore. “Well, I think I’ve been doin’ alright. Definitely better than in D.”

“It's funny how that happens when you're not constantly in fear,” Thursday says with a smile. “That's why I try so hard to make this a safe environment. People don't respond well in situations where they're scared or being taken advantage of.”

“Yeah.” He sits with Cas to eat, his eyes flickering between his plate and those blue oceans. “You ever get food not from here for yourself? Like a burger?”

“It's rare, but... it happens occasionally.” 

“Man... I'd kill for a burger.” He takes a bite and then realizes what he said. “Not literally.”

Thursday looks around and lowers his voice. “Get your GED and maybe we can talk about a burger.”

Dean grins and goes back to his food happily. “You ever leave here, Angel?”

“I used to... but it's been a very long time. I don't have any reason to leave. I have no family or anything and the prison provides everything I need. Food, shelter, clothing. That sort of thing.”

It seems bizarre as hell, but he's already come to expect that of Thursday, so he just nods, pushing away his plate and licking his lips. “I been meanin’ to talk to you about those other meetings. I’m thinkin it can’t hurt to check ‘em out.” He blushes slightly and averts his gaze. “Not the gambling one... the other two.”

“There were three others, Dean.” Thursday turns to face him better, but his expression is open, interested — not judgemental. “Which two?”

“The —” he starts picking at something on his empty plate — “alcohol one... maybe the sex one too. Haven’t been laid in a bit and it’s uh... I'm feeling a little pent up.”

Thursday nods. “Masturbation helps. Have you learned Lee’s schedule yet? There should be ample time for you to... accomplish it.”

“Please don’t say masturbation.” Dean grimaces but he can’t quite hide his amusement. “And yeah, I do that like three times a day.”

The guy finally squirms, making Dean smirk. “Oh,” Thursday says quietly. “Yes, it seems like you might benefit from some of those meetings. I'll make the necessary changes to your schedule and get you set up.”

“Thanks.” Dean licks his lips and then bites his bottom one nervously. “I'm not an addict though…”

“No, of course not.” It doesn't look like Thursday believes him at all, but Dean’s glad he's not arguing. “Still, the meetings might help take the edge off a little bit. What happened with Azrian?”

“Have you met Kato?” Dean asks with a chuckle. “They’re basically married.” He chooses to leave out the fact that he ended things himself to try and be better — but rumor has it that it really didn't take Az very long at all to find someone else, anyway. “I'm happy for him, even if I lost my fuckbuddy.”

Thursday nods. “Of course I've met Kato. I take a personal interest in every inmate that comes through my gate, no one gets transferred here without my permission.”

“Maybe transfer in a new fuck buddy for me?” Dean asks, only half-joking. 

“Mm. We'll see how good you are.” Thursday winks, then stands up. “Head back to work detail and see me in my office at four. I'll give you your new schedule.”

“Alright. Thanks. Hey, wait…” Dean looks around and then stands, leaning in closer. “What's your real name?”

Surprise flickers across his face. “Oh. Um… Castiel. My real name is Castiel.”

“Castiel.” Dean huffs a laugh. “Alright. See you at four, Cas.” He licks his lips and turns away, heading back to the garage to finish his work detail. 

~~~~

He ends up getting his new schedule that night, and he's slated for Alcoholics Anonymous on Mondays, Sex Addicts Anonymous on Thursdays, Anger Management on Fridays, and the other two nights are listed as GED prep. He's still got his evenings off and he'll continue work detail in the mornings and afternoons, so all in all, he's gonna stay busy. 

AA ends up not being that bad — it's his first time, but they don't make him talk much. Just a brief intro with his name and how long he's gone without a drink, which happens to be equivalent to the amount of days since he got arrested… whatever that is, at this point. Other than that, he listens to some of the others talk about their experiences, their stories and what made them want to get clean — and the general consensus is prison. Not many of them seemed to want to kick the habit beforehand, and Dean can't really blame them — he sure as shit didn't, either. He's still not quite sure he wants to, but he's also no longer sure he  _ doesn't  _ want to.  _ That's gotta count for somethin', right? _

Tuesday and Wednesday night’s study sessions involve more of the same. Cas tries to teach him other ways to remember formulas and tricks and things, and Dean actually starts to retain some of it. He gets a little nervous when Cas tells him he's supposed to take his reading test the following week, but that was the easiest for him in practice, so at least he's starting off simple. 

But Thursday? The day ends up being as perplexing as the man. Gad is harder on him than normal in the garage and he ends up walking in on Kato and Azrian in the rec room, which only makes him nice and horny right before his first SAA meeting. 

He's honestly just happy his boner goes down by the time he's sitting in that stupid circle, but that doesn't last long at all. The leader of this meeting is fucking Cas himself, and he smiles as he watches Dean shifting. “Everyone, we've got a newcomer today. Dean, would you like to introduce yourself?”

Dean whispers “dammit” and clears his throat. “Um... hi. I’m Dean... like he just said.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh... what else should I say? That I lost my virginity at fourteen and stuff?”

“That's up to you. You can share as much or as little as you'd like, but typically first introductions just include your name and what brought you here.”

The request seems simple, but he still isn't really sure what to say. He tries to think of what things were like before prison… how sex made him feel both during and after, and a possible reason or two that he'd want to control those urges all of a sudden. 

In the end, the answer comes easier than he thought it would. “Oh, well uh... sex has always felt, I dunno, good. I mean, really, really good. But sometimes, it just makes you feel  _ bad. _ You're drunk, you shack up, then it's the whole morning thing. 'Hey, that was fun,' and then adios. Always the adios. But when you get down to it, what's the big deal? Sure, there's the touching and the feeling all of each other, my hands everywhere, tracing every inch of their body. The two of us moving together, pressing, pulling, grinding, and then you hit that sweet spot and everything just builds, builds and builds until it all just—” he mocks an explosion — “But the whole thing was just a little too sticky.” Dean looks around the room and everyone’s eyes are locked on him, making him blush.

Cas’ eyes, however, are on the ceiling. “Thank you… for sharing, Dean. That… that was enlightening,” he says, but there's an edge to his voice like he's having a hard time with what just happened. 

Dean can see that Cas is tense, but he isn’t sure if it’s because he overshared or because he’s also horny. “You're welcome.” He grins because he was nervous and now the introduction is over, so he thinks he can relax, but the looks he's getting tell him he's wrong. 

“Let's build on that,” Cas says, finally looking at him. “You say that the morning after was always rough. What would you have preferred happen?”

_ Dammit. _ “Uh... I dunno. Maybe a real conversation? Friggin bacon. Anything, really... but I never really stayed in one town for very long so what did I expect?”

Cas nods, his expression almost sad. “I think you still could've expected some genuine connection, even if it was fleeting. Don't you?”

Dean shrugs, looking smaller in his seat. “Maybe I’m not made for that.” He doesn’t know why he said it — it even  _ tastes _ like a lie. All he’s ever wanted was connection. To be held. To feel worthy. He's just never gotten it… not once, except maybe with Benny. But Ben’s dead and even if he wasn't, it would never have amounted to anything more than a prison thing, anyway. He was a lifer, and Dean still has a life yet to live after this.  _ Hopefully.  _

“You're wrong, Dean,” Cas’ voice cuts in. “I think you are made for it, and I think that's exactly why you seem to be addicted to sex. You're trying over and over again to find the connection you crave, it just ends up feeling hollow because you'll never find it in a one-night stand.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I’m still horny all the time. I’d rather fuck and have some release, y’know?”

The rest of the room goes silent. Cas licks his bottom lip slowly and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “I won’t tell you not to have sex. But I will challenge you. Find some connections that don't involve your penis. Something that makes you feel a little less… frenzied.”

Dean nods and looks away, the eye contact doing the opposite of what it needs to be doing. “Okay. I’ll try... cause you challenged me.”

“Good. Then let's move on.”

~~~~

The day of his test, Dean barely focuses on work, barely eats when it’s time for lunch, and arrives early to pace around Cas’ office, chewing his nails down to nothing thanks to the nerves coursing through him. He watches the clock tick closer to four with his brows pinched, not breaking that routine until Thursday finally says something. 

“Dean.” Cas leans forward, setting his pencil down. “You're going to do fine.”

_ Yeah, okay maybe, but…  _ “But what if I don’t?” He sits on Cas’ desk and makes himself at home, fidgeting with notepads and the coffee mug full of pencils to distract himself. 

“Then we'll study and you'll take it again,” Cas says, his voice calm and steady. “But I don't believe you'll fail.”

The words sound nice, but Dean can't shake the feeling of inadequacy. Instead of letting that show too much, he flashes him a cheeky, cute smirk. “But if I  _ do  _ fail… how will I make you smile?”

“Oh, I'm sure the extra study sessions will provide you with plenty of opportunities.” Cas smiles warmly, but Dean shakes his head. 

“Not that smile. Nu-uh. You know which one I want. That one that crinkles your eyes all adorably.”

A blush spreads across Thursday’s cheeks. “Well... then I suppose you'll just have to pass, won't you?”

“I suppose so, Angel.” He hops off the desk and goes to sit down, pulling the test sheet closer to him. At first, the words all blur together until they look like they’re mocking him — but he takes a couple of deep breaths and closes his eyes, reminding himself how badly he needs this.  _ Just think of it like any hunt. This test is just the monster of the week, and all I gotta do is figure out what makes it tick. That’s all.  _

He starts writing while Cas sits there patiently at his desk. At first, his presence throws Dean off a little — it’s weird having someone there while he’s trying to actually do something right, something normally better suited to his brother, Sammy — but after a while, he actually finds it comforting. Cas has been nothing but good to him since he was transferred to Absolution Row, and part of him knows that even if he fails, he won’t see disappointment on that gorgeous face. He’ll just see resolve to help him get better. 

That’s a level of support he’s truthfully never had before, and he finishes with the test before it even registers that an hour has passed. He double-checks it quickly and hands it over with a small smile. “Here. Grade it.” He sits on his desk again, and Cas glances at the first page and then back up to Dean’s face. 

“I don't think I'll be able to concentrate with you sitting this close to me. Go to the couch. Get some water from the mini fridge.”

“C’mon.” He scoots his butt closer. “I’m dyin’ here, Cas.”

“Fine.” He pulls the test closer and gets the answer key, then starts grading. When he gets to the essay, he reads over it a few times with an expression Dean can’t quite read, and then gets up, hiding the sheet from Dean as he goes over to log into the website. He inputs Dean's score, beckons for him to come over, and gestures to a screen that's got all five tests listed — and Reading has a checkmark under the “Passed” column. Cas beams at him, giving him the smile he was absolutely waiting for. “You did it, Dean. One down.”

Dean’s smile is just as wide and he pulls Cas in for a hug, squeezing him excitedly. “Holy shit, thanks, Cas!”

The guard tenses, but relaxes quickly and hugs him back. “I'm really proud of you. You just took the first step toward the rest of your life.”

Dean pulls back, still grinning ear to ear. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” He taps Cas’ chin with his knuckle softly. “Glad I got that smile outta you.”

“Mm. We’ll see if you can do it two days in a row. I’ll schedule your Writing test for tomorrow so we can do Science and Social Studies next week, and hopefully by then you’ll be ready for Math.” 

And just like that, the anxiety returns to Dean’s stomach. “What do I have to write about?” 

“I can't tell you that. You'll find out when you take the test.” He nods over Dean's shoulder to the Trickster as he enters, then taps the table. “I'll see you tomorrow, Dean. Don't be late.”

“See you tomorrow, Cas.” He winks at both men and walks out the door, grinning to himself when he hears the Trickster comment that Cas has been spending a lot of time with Dean.  _ Damn right he has. He may not wanna admit I’m special, but I see the way he looks at me. I’ll get him eventually.  _

~~~~

The next morning at breakfast, Cas comes over to where he’s sitting with Lee and reminds him about the test, plus gives him the dates of his Science and Social Studies tests. He wants to add in a couple of extra math sessions in between which sounds like a lot to Dean, but then again, he’ll never complain about a little extra time with Cas. “Sounds good, Angel. Might show up dirty today though, hope you don’t mind.” He smirks, chuckling quietly at the look on Thursday’s face.

“Fine, but if you sit on my desk again, I’ll throw you back in solitary.” 

Lee watches Dean watch Cas walk away with a shake of his head. “Dangerous, man. Don't do it.”

“What? Don’t do what?” Dean looks back quickly. “The test? I have to,” he says easily, knowing damn well that’s not what he meant. 

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you have to do the test. Just don't push him too much. Rumor has it he was in love with one of the prisoners, and now that guy's barely ever allowed out of his cell. Don’t end up like that guy just cause you think he’s got a nice ass.” 

Dean frowns, ignoring the incredibly true statement about Thursday’s ass. “That doesn’t sound like him at all. If that dude even exists, I’m sure there’s a reason we never see him.” He doesn’t really understand the defensiveness he’s feeling for Cas, but chalks it up to the fact that he’s the only person in Dean’s corner right now. “Plus, he’d never fall for someone like me.”

“From what I hear, Cain's a  _ lot  _ like you... and he's real. I  _ have  _ seen him, and it wasn't pretty.” He takes a bite of his food and waves his fork. “But hey, can't say I didn't warn ya.”

“Mmhm. Thanks.” Dean gets up and goes for a walk. He wishes he could ask French about these things, but since he doesn’t know anything about A, it wouldn’t help anyway. He doesn’t really take what Lee said too seriously because he doesn’t know a damned thing about him, not really. They all think he’s some freak that digs up graves for kicks and might’ve killed someone in St. Louis… they don’t know who he really is. 

When he gets to work, he throws himself into repairing another one of the prison vans and decides to ask Gadreel if he knows anything. “Hey, who’s Cain?”

He slowly stops what he's doing and looks over, setting his tools down. “He's a prisoner here, same as you. Why do you ask?”

“I mean why is it people never see him? Is he dangerous or something?”

“Incredibly, yes. He's a serial killer.” Gad leans against the toolbench “He's heavily guarded and lost the ability to be around other prisoners a long time ago, which is why few people have seen him. Used to be he was allowed out once a year or so, but things didn’t go so well last time and Thursday hasn’t let him out since.” 

That sounds a lot like torture to Dean, which seems excessive — even for a serial killer. For the first time, he’s starting to understand why the rest of the prison is so damn scared of the Angel of Thursday. Apparently, if you piss him off, you’re in solitary for the rest of your life. “Well alright then.” Dean goes back to work still thinking about it, confused as to why the hell Cas fell for a serial killer — and then realizes he’s no better.  _ Maybe Lee’s right. Maybe he’s not… maybe I’m in way over my head tryna land this guy. Probably doesn’t want anything to do with killers anymore and I’ll never be able to convince him I’m not one, cause I am.  _

By the time he goes to Cas’ office, he’s grouchy and not in the mood to flirt. He goes straight to his seat and stares at the clock, waiting for the time he’s allowed to begin. 

Cas frowns. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” He reads over the first topic and starts writing, trying to ignore Cas’ presence for once. It definitely doesn’t feel as comforting today as it did just yesterday. This one takes a little longer than the last and his hand is cramping something fierce when he finally finishes. He walks it over, setting it in front of him. “Can I use your bathroom or do I gotta go out there for ours?”

“Go ahead,” Cas says quietly, and Dean doesn’t stick around to see that confused, inquisitive look on Cas’ face.

_ Wouldn’t know how to explain it if I tried, Angel. I’m mad you might’ve fallen for a serial killer yet you treat me like a student? You don’t owe me shit and yet here I am, pissy I can’t get what I want when I made this damn bed in the first place.  _

Dean goes pee and splashes some water on his face, taking a moment to breathe before walking out again and sitting down. Cas is still grading, so Dean sucks his teeth and makes noises with his mouth as he taps the arm of the chair as he waits. 

Eventually, Cas sets his red pen down and looks up. “Will you tell me what's bothering you?”

“Nothing is bothering me. I’m tired and trying hard not to be triggered by things. But some days it’s like— like everything is a trigger.” He runs a hand down his face. “I need to get laid, Cas.”

“So get laid,” Cas says almost coldly. “It's not as if you'll find a shortage of interested parties here.” He gets up and goes to the computer, logging in again without saying a word to Dean about his score.

“Are you offering?” Dean leans forward with that smirk, trying to forget about everything else. He could go fuck someone else, but he wants Cas — especially now, but Cas doesn’t even glance up. 

“You already know the answer to that. If it's a guard you want, I could arrange for Frenchie to make a visit.” He inputs his scores and scoots his chair over. “Another checkmark. Excellent work, Dean.”

“You can do that?” Dean asks. “Wait, how’d you know about Frenchie?”

Cas flushes, turning to face him. “It was obvious from the way he both defended your character and tried to keep you near him.” 

“Alright.” Dean’s a little disappointed Cas still doesn’t want him, but he isn’t about to pass it up. “Yeah... I think two passes earns some ass right? Can you get French? Better than some random inmate. You told me to make connections. French and me... we have a connection.”

“Of course. But... you can't tell anyone. This isn't a favor that I'd do for many people, nor is it one I'll do on a regular basis. Do you understand?”

All that does is make Dean feel guilty for even asking, but he’s far enough in now that he doesn’t want to back out. He just won’t ask again after this. “Yeah I get it. Where would we even go? Here?”

“No. When you hear your cell door unlock, just come out. I'll find somewhere. Maybe one of the… spare dorms,” Cas says quietly, his eyes dropping back to the keyboard. 

“Okay. Thanks, Cas. Once again, you’ve saved my sanity.” 

~~~~

That night, Dean is surprised when his cell door actually unlocks. He’s not sure why — Thursday has never lied to him before and has always followed through, but this seems different. Bigger, even… but almost cements the fact that Cas doesn’t want him. What kinda guy would break the rules to let their crush get fucked by someone else? 

The disappointment he feels by that realization fades quickly as he makes sure Lee’s asleep and ducks out the door. He thanks Cas quickly when he sees him and allows himself to be led down a hallway of dorms he doesn’t usually visit. “He’s in here. I’ll be waiting for you in the rec area when you’re finished to let you back in your cell,” Cas says quietly, then unlocks the last door on the left. 

Instantly, Frenchie hurls himself at Dean and hugs him tight once he’s in view. “Weenchester!” 

It’s damn good to see him, but Dean isn’t much in the mood for catching up. He kisses him quickly and makes sure Cas gets a good look at the way Frenchie squeezes his ass, then kicks the door shut behind him and leaves him — and all of those confusing mixed signals and feelings — behind. 

~~~~

When Frenchie leaves, Dean lays back in the bed with a weird feeling in his stomach. Just as he'd been about to get off, Frenchie told him this was  _ Cas’  _ bed — and the smell that hit him after that made it obvious.

It also pushed him over the edge so hard he saw stars, but he doesn't particularly want to think about that. 

He lays there naked until Cas physically comes to retrieve him, but the second he sees Dean, he freezes. 

“Shit. M’sorry.” Dean covers with the blanket and sits up. “Got too comfy, I guess.”

Cas just shakes his head a little like he's trying to snap out of it. “No, it's okay. I just… wanted to make sure you were alright. You can stay here, if you'd be more comfortable.”

“With you?” He tilts his head, reaching down to grab his boxers and slide them on so at least he's not bare anymore. 

A conflicted look crosses Thursday’s face, but he shakes his head. “No, I'd stay somewhere else. It's okay, if you're comfortable…” 

“Why not stay?” Dean pulls up his sweats next and sits again while he gets his shirt right side out. “Plenty of room in here. I’m dressed now.”

He hears Cas say it wouldn't be appropriate, but with the way he's looking at Dean, it's clear it's a struggle not to. Dean stares back a few seconds longer and then he stands, sliding on his shoes. 

“Never mind. I’ll go. Goodnight, Cas.”

“Dean…” He stops Dean at the door and lets out a sharp, quiet breath. “I would if I could.” He drops his eyes to the floor and leads Dean back to his room, and Dean doesn’t know what to say to that because he doesn’t understand  _ why _ Cas can’t. But he also has always struggled with rules and morals in general, so how would he?

They say goodnight again before Dean ducks into his room, and he watches Cas longingly as he closes the door. Jumping slightly when he sees Lee is awake, he blushes, climbing straight in his bed. “Shut up. Don’t ask.”

“How'd you pull it off?” Lee asks anyway. 

It takes Dean a moment to work out that he thinks he fucked Cas. “Pull what off? It isn't what it looks like, now mind your damn business and go to sleep.”

Lee holds up his hands in mock defense. “Sorry. Suit yourself.” He lays down and pulls the blanket back over his head, then says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Dean rolls over, and then one more time says, “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

~~~~

He doesn't talk to Cas much after that, despite passing his next two GED tests. He's nice and all, but doesn't seem to spare Dean more than a few extra words other than a genuine congratulations when he passes. 

They haven't talked about that night, and Frenchie hasn't come back. It just leaves him pent up again by the time his next SAA meeting rolls around, and he's almost determined to make Cas squirm this time. 

Cas sits down to call the meeting to order. “It's been a couple of weeks now so I would like to go around the room and we can talk about the connections we've made. Cidos, would you like to go first?”

Cidos shifts. “Not really. You know me, Thursday. Not much of a  _ connections _ kinda guy.”

“It wasn't a request, Cidos.” Cas raises an eyebrow and the command in his voice makes Ci flinch. 

He clears his throat. “Yeah, okay. Uh... I got in touch with my twin again after a while. And no, you sick fucks, not in a sexual way. He said all connections count.” He waits, looking like he thinks that will be enough, but continues when Cas doesn't move on. “I did some fucked up things to him before I got arrested, and I uh... finally apologized. He's coming to visit me next week.”

Finally, Cas smiles. “Good, and that's a first since you've been in Absolution Row, yes?” Ci just nods, so Cas continues, “Good. That's something to be celebrated, Cidos. Now, who wants to go next? Any volunteers?”

“I’ll go.” Dean licks his lips and leans forward on his knees. “I talked to my little brother this last week and he didn’t tell me to fuck off. He’s not comin’ to visit or anything, but it’s something. I also made a connection with someone in here, but I’m not ready to talk about that one yet.” He watches Cas to see if he realizes Dean meant him, but the sadness in his eyes says he misunderstood. 

“That's good, Dean,” he says quietly. “I'm glad to hear that you spoke with Sam, and that you're finding deeper connections here.”

“Well I’m trying, here. Some things don’t always work out how we’d like, right? I think his uh... heart is someone else’s... but I’d like to think we can be good friends. Don’t got many of those, y’know?”

Cas looks around like the oblivious bastard is really trying to figure out who Dean’s talking about. It would be cute if it wasn't so damn infuriating. “I see. Well, then you should talk to them. Make sure you're on the same page. Communication is key, Dean… in everything, especially when you're trying to fight… urges. The clearer you are about your desires and intentions, the less they can control you.”

“Maybe. I dunno if it’s a good idea but... maybe. Anyone else wanna go?” Dean sits back, showing he doesn’t want to keep talking about it, and the guy to his left takes pity on him. 

He sits and listens as the rest go through their stories, but Cas isn't nearly as engaged with the others as he is with him. The mixed signals are getting ridiculous, and he figures maybe Cas is right — maybe he  _ should  _ just talk to him about it honestly — but truthfully, he's not sure he's ready to be rejected like that.

Maybe he'll never be.

~~~~

The next week goes by way too fast with his Math GED test hanging over his head, and again, he shows up early. He's nervous as hell as he meets those blue eyes. “Cas… what happens if I fail?”

“We’ve talked about this, Dean,” he says calmly. “If you fail, we simply keep studying until you can pass. Haven't you wondered why I'm having you take the tests on paper instead of putting your answers directly into the computer?”

Dean nods, sitting down and taking a breath. “Wish I could have a drink... but I guess that’s why I'm in AA, right?”

“I suppose it is. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yeah sure. Let’s go.” Dean takes longer with this one and he has to take a couple educated guesses, but when he hands it to Cas, he feels a little better. At least it's over.

Cas takes it and smiles softly at him. “Go get some food and take a shower, then meet me back here. I'll have it graded for you by then.”

“Alright, thanks, Cas.” Dean rushes to do those things, less hungry than he normally is, but he blames the nerves. By the time he’s showered and knocking on Cas’ door again, he can’t wait even a second longer so he pushes it open. “What’s the verdict? I can’t go another sec—”

Lee, Azrian, Kato, the Trickster, Frenchie and Cas all turn to look at him with huge smiles on their faces. There's a pie on the desk with a single candle in it and a banner hanging behind Cas’ head that says “You Did It!” in big letters. 

“Congratulations, Dean,” Cas beams. “You passed! You're officially a high school graduate.”

“Holy shit!” His face lights up brighter than anyone’s seen it and then his eyes widen when he notices that most important thing in the room. “Pie! Fucking pie! I don’t have to share right?”

Cas laughs, shaking his head. “No, you don't have to share. This one's all yours.”

Lee pulls him into a one-armed hug and claps his back. “Now you can join the big leagues and we can bitch about all the college coursework this guy dumps on us.”

“Sounds horrible. I’m in.” Dean laughs and shoves him off playfully. “When can I start?”

He doesn't get a chance to answer before Frenchie is taking his place, hugging him tightly, only to be tossed aside by the Trickster. It's weird since they've never said more than two words to each other, but Dean hugs him back all the same and winks at Kato and Azrian.

Finally, Cas slides the pie toward him. “We’ll talk about next steps later. But for now, enjoy this, Dean. You've earned it.”

“Thanks.” Dean sits down and grabs a plastic fork, eating the pie straight from the middle. “Hell yeah.” He does a little dance, moaning loudly when he takes the first bite. “Everyone go. I need a moment with this pie.”

They all laugh, but Cas starts to usher them out. “You can celebrate with him later, we really do need to speak about what comes next. Out, out.”

The Trickster is the only one that protests, and only because he thought Cas was kidding about not making Dean share the pie. He's vocal as hell about his disappointment, but Cas doesn't budge. “Go make yourself useful somewhere else.”

Dean holds the pie to himself protectively, waving a hand at them all. When they’re alone, he smiles up at Cas. “Thank you. You’re... awesome.” He takes another huge bite, smiling around the pie and making an almost obnoxiously happy sound. 

“You're welcome, Dean.” Cas closes the door and leans against it, then smiles just a little. “Do you have plans for tonight? I have another gift, but not if you're doing literally anything other than going straight from here to bed.”

“Nah. I didn’t make plans because I thought I’d be disappointed in myself. Might watch a movie or somethin’. What do you got planned?”

He walks over to the fridge and pulls out a white water bottle, then glances toward the door as he grabs two glasses. When he starts squirting liquid into them, the smell hits him — whiskey. “Despite the fact that you're in AA, I don't believe you're an alcoholic. I think you're a little codependent on booze when you're trying to bury your feelings and when you're trying to run from reality, but you don't exhibit any of the classic signs of alcoholism… which is why I don't feel guilty for giving you this.” He slides one glass forward. “I'm incredibly proud of you, Dean. Your initial stay at this prison was a nightmare that not many people would've survived, and yet… here you are. You just got your GED and you're already asking for the next challenge with a smile on your face. I'm so proud of you that I don't honestly have the words to tell you.”

All the praise has him blushing and hiding behind the glass, but he holds it out for a cheers. “Here's to surviving... hell... here’s to thriving.”

Cas clinks their glasses together then takes a sip as he leans against his desk, his eyes on Dean. “You've come so far already.”

“It’s nice... passin’ the time this way. I’ve been... I dunno... bitter as fuck for a while, but... this might end up being the best thing to happen to me.” He meets Cas’ eyes. “Thanks to you.”

He clears his throat and sets his glass down. “You've done the work, Dean. All I did was give you a safer environment and the tools to do so. I didn't take those tests for you… you should give yourself more credit.”

Dean takes another bite and then scoops one up for Cas, offering it with a smile, and Cas leans forward to bite it off the fork. He chuckles as he chews, then covers his mouth for a moment. “I didn't think I'd be fed my own pie.”

“You made this?!” Dean stands up and hugs him, not wanting to ever let go of the man that's already done so much.

Cas blushes as he hugs him back. “Yes, I baked it myself earlier today. I knew you'd pass and I wanted you to have something special.”

_ That's it.  _ Dean keeps his arms around Cas but shifts to look at him with his bottom lip between his teeth. He sees nothing but openness staring back at him, so he goes for it — he leans in and kisses him. 

It seems to startle the hell out of Cas, cause he freezes solid for a long enough moment that Dean’s pretty sure he's  _ not  _ kissing him back — but then he melts, pulling their bodies together and deepening the kiss with his hands fisting in the fabric of Dean’s shirt. 

Cas reciprocating feels better than passing any test, and he slides his tongue inside his mouth with a moan, wanting more. With a strength that shouldn't be possible from a guy his size, Cas picks Dean up and sets him on the desk, slotting between his legs and sucking his tongue. 

It's like a switch has flipped — there's nothing mixed about these signals. Dean’s a goner, gripping Cas’ sides tightly and hardening between them — but just as he's giving in, Cas breaks the kiss with a ragged breath and drops his forehead to Dean's shoulder. “This... you should go.”

Dean pulls back completely and frowns at Cas, but it’s gone in a second, replaced with something much different. “Alright, then. Thanks for the pie and the... everything.” He grabs the pie and leaves, wondering what the hell it will take to get Cas to want him so much he tosses his morals out the damn window.

_ I'm already there… why isn't he? _


	5. Chapter 5

####  **Castiel**

Watching Dean walk out the door is terrible. He'd foolishly hoped that Dean would fight him — would try a little harder, maybe attempt to convince Cas he doesn't feel manipulated at all — but in the same thought, he realizes how selfish that is. He can't expect that of Dean, not when that itself feels like a manipulation. 

_How do I navigate this?_ **_Can_ ** _I even navigate something like this?_

He paces in his office and then hides the whiskey and the glasses before calling Gabriel back in. “I need to leave.”

“Leave? You never leave. Where?” Gabe asks with a worried expression. “What happened? You were just all smiley and crap.”

“What do you _think_ happened?” Cas runs a hand through his hair and starts to pace. “I apparently never learn my lesson, that's what.”

“You guys…” Gabe does an obscene hand movement and then tries to give him a high five. “Come on, bro. Live a little.”

“Do you understand what happened to him before he came here? His arresting officer, pretty much _every_ guard, the prisoners too... no.” Cas shakes his head. “He's making something of himself over here. Not to mention... he's a _hunter,_ Gabriel.”

“A— what?!” Gabe visibly tenses. “Does he know about us? About angels?”

He shakes his head. “No, not as far as I can tell. Bobby didn't, at any rate… though he does now. Do you understand why I can't? How do you think he’ll react when he feels my wing slits?”

“Well... I’d have to kill him if he reacted badly, so... let’s hope he doesn’t.” Gave meets his eyes, showing him he isn’t joking. 

“That won't happen. Like I said, I just need to leave for a day or two. I need to clear my head, to get out of here and get some fresh air. It's been a _really_ long time.”

Gabe sighs dramatically. “Alright. Luce and I got this, baby bro. Take a little vaca and get laid. Heaven knows you need it.”

“Heaven doesn't have anything to do with it, and that's not where I'm going. I just need out for a little bit. I've dedicated a lot of time to these prisoners and I'm afraid that if Dean tries again, all of it will crumble. I'll end up sneaking him out of here and hiding him from the law and then what? Everyone else here just has to suffer?” Cas keeps pacing, then goes to the fridge to pull that water bottle back out and squirts some whiskey into his mouth. “I've come too far for that. So have all of them.”

“Okay, Cassy. Take all the time you need.” He leaves Cas’ office, but Cas doesn't miss the thoughts swirling through his brother’s head about transferring Dean back to D. 

_Try it and we’ll be gone before the paperwork goes through,_ he thinks to himself. 

With that in mind, Cas knows he's only got a day max before he needs to return. He teleports himself out of the prison and to the top of a mountain he used to frequent back before he found his calling. The view is just as gorgeous as he remembers, but there's something… missing this time, and he can't quite place it. 

The forest down below looks a little less green, the river a little less blue, and the sky close enough to touch is a darkened gray, though the sun is trying to peek through. _Isn't that fitting? The whole world is as conflicted as I am._

He sits, letting the sounds of mountain life distract him as he stretches out his wings. Up here, the animals aren't shocked or scared by the sight of an angel — on the contrary. Within minutes of sitting down, he's got an audience of marmots and foxes surrounding him, and he chuckles to himself as one particularly curious fox swats the tip of his wing. “I can only hope Dean is as gentle as you are,” he says to it. “But something tells me that won't be the case.”

The fox tilts his head and asks him why, and it startles Cas — he's been holed up in the prison so long that he’s forgotten he can speak to animals. 

“He's a hunter. No, no,” he adds quickly, seeing the look on the fox’s face. “Not that kind of hunter. He'd be hunting _me,_ not you. He'd like you. You're feisty.” 

That train of thought makes him uneasy, though he knows it's futile. There's nothing in that prison that can kill him save for his own brothers and Cain, and they keep Cain so heavily guarded, warded and sedated that he's not much of a threat. Dean wouldn't be able to kill him — but he _would_ be able to hurt him. 

Still, Cas knows that's not what he's truly afraid of. Anything Dean could do would be temporary, fleeting — little more than the blink of an eye in the span of Castiel’s never-ending life. But if Castiel hurts Dean the way he did Cain… that would be forever. And ultimately, he tells himself that's why he's staying away, though already, he knows he won't. 

He can't. 

Something about Dean is calling to him in a way he's never felt before, not in all of his millions of years. He wants to hold him, love him, praise him every minute of every day, but if he doesn't do something soon, he's going to lose him. 

_And already, I know I can't lose him. I'll simply have to find a way to make him understand, to make him see I'm not to be feared or hunted. That I can love him better than any human ever could. I can take care of him better than any human ever could. I can_ **_be_ ** _better than any human ever could… and I’ll just have to hope he doesn't want to see me dead._

But the fear of what rejection would mean for Dean himself makes him pause. If he's not careful, he could alienate Dean and make him want to go back to Cellblock D — and that would ruin everything. It would ruin Dean. 

With that in mind, he pays a visit to Bobby Singer. It takes a bit of convincing to even get through the door, and Bobby only lets him in because he thinks he's devised an angel trap under his carpeting, but it's ineffective. Cas takes a few moments to show him how to fix it in an attempt to gain his trust, and it works — Bobby looks impressed and a little grateful, and starts to open up. 

“You're a long way from that prison, boy. Somethin’ I should know?”

Cas nods. “I was hoping you could tell me what would happen if I told Dean the truth about me.”

“Why'd you wanna go and do a damned fool thing like that? I thought you had a good thing goin’ there?” Bobby asks. 

“I do,” he agrees. “But Dean… I think he needs to know.”

“Does he _need_ to know or do you _want_ him to know?”

 _Both? Neither?_ Cas shifts and straightens his tie. “I think I'm falling in love with him.”

“You _think?_ You can't go runnin’ around tossin’ lives upside down because of a _thought,_ Castiel! That boy hasn't believed in angels since his mother died, you can't go shittin’ all over that unless you're damned sure.” Bobby’s face gives away just how seriously he's taking this, and for a moment, Cas feels little better than a scolded child.

“Wouldn't he be happy to know angels exis—”

“No!” Bobby yells incredulously. “Imagine you're a four year old boy who’s momma tells him every night that angels are watchin’ over him, and then she goes and gets _murdered_ by a demon, and his whole life after that is spent in constant pain and misery cause his dad became an obsessed bastard. Wouldn't it be easier to just think angels don't exist than to find out they really do, they just don't _care?”_

“But I do care,” Cas says quietly. “I cared enough to pull him out of the hell he was in, to put him on a path that will lead to him having a better life when he gets out, one that's not just hunting.”

Bobby sighs. “I suppose I should thank you for that. I was worried sick about that boy until you called me. Still am, but… at least I know if somethin’ happens to him now, it's his own damn fault.”

Silence stretches awkwardly between them for a moment. “I would never hurt him, Bobby. I just need to know how to make him believe it… or if that's even possible. If it's not, I won't risk telling him any of it. Not the fact that I'm an angel, not that I'm in love with him. None of it. I'll keep pretending to just be a prison guard with a good heart and suspiciously strong influence over the warden.”

“You're tellin’ me you’d keep all that a secret just to protect him?”

Cas dips his head down in agreement. 

“Well,” Bobby starts, “it’ll take a Christmas miracle for that boy to believe ya anyway. He's gonna need proof, hard proof, if you want him to buy what you're sellin’. He's never believed anything off faith alone, it's one of the things that makes him such a damned good hunter. Damn shame he got locked up for some false accusations… there's a lotta people sufferin’ cause he ain't out there killin’ the things that go bump.”

It's that more than anything that tells Cas he needs to do something — and not just anything, something drastic. Bobby's right, humanity as a whole is _worse_ off with Dean behind bars, not better. He's not a criminal at all, he's just a man that was judged for doing the impossible. 

And _that_ is something Cas can do something about.

“Thank you, Bobby. You've been very helpful.” He stands, but Bobby interjects.

“Wait, what're you gonna do?”

With a smile, Cas says simply, “I’m going to go make a Christmas miracle.”

~~~~

Cas spends the rest of his day off doing research. He visits an old cop friend, April, who gives him a list of all the jurisdictions Dean’s made trouble in — and the list is a lot longer than Cas thought. He starts small, erasing the records and memories of the folks in Tipton County that remember Dean assaulting their district attorney, then does the same in a couple of small Ohio towns. He removes any trace of Dean’s DNA or fingerprints as well as all evidence that could implicate him — security tapes of both the crimes and the stations when Dean came in for questioning. 

It's so time consuming that Cas starts to think it would be easier to manipulate the president into pardoning him — but that will draw too much attention to Dean once he's out, and when the crimes continue, it will just be a disaster. 

He gets through as many of the smaller towns and lesser crimes as he can, then goes Christmas shopping for the inmates in Absolution Row. He knows damn well that Jesus wasn't anything more than a man, but this is the one time of the year he can truly spoil the inmates without it seeming strange, so he doesn't judge their celebrations. He gets them blankets and pillows and board games, a pool table for the rec area, and one particular present for Dean himself — an antique turntable with over a hundred albums ranging from Led Zeppelin to Black Sabbath to Rory Gallagher, Jethro Tull and everything in between. 

When he returns to the prison, he pushes the button that triggers a lockdown drill. He chuckles to himself as the prisoners scramble to get back to their dorms, and once everyone is safely tucked away, he starts decorating.

They don't particularly have room for the Christmas tree he chose, but he makes it work, placing it in the corner of the rec area next to the TV. He enlists his brothers to help him out the lights and colored bulbs on it, and swats Lucifer when he suggests using Castiel as a tree topper — but Gabriel thinks that's funny enough that he fabricates a little angel with Cas’ face and blue tie, then places it on top of the tree. 

Even Cas has to laugh when he sees it, and once they're all finished with the decorating, Cas uses his grace to wrap all the presents and places the ones that will fit under the tree. He ties a ribbon around the pool table and sets the turntable up with Led Zeppelin II playing, then nods to Michael. “Lift the lockdown and see to it that there's a Christmas feast waiting in the cafeteria.”

Michael nods and takes off to do just that, and Gabriel leans against the pool table. “I haven't seen you in this good of a mood in centuries, baby bro. What's gotten into you?”

All Cas does is smile. “Let's just say my day off was… quite rejuvenating. Now come on. Let's make a little Christmas joy.”

####  **Dean**

When the lockdown drill lifts, Dean walks out of his room with an irritated expression. All those alarms do is remind him of the night Benny died, but those thoughts are quickly overshadowed by the decorations. He was too young during his last real Christmas for him to remember it now, but even still, he has a feeling this would be better. 

The sound of Zepp coming through a turntable with a green bow around it makes him stop dead in his tracks. One look at Cas tells him that's for him, and it takes just about all he's got not to go over there and kiss him again. “Holy shit.”

He laughs his ass off when The Trickster points out the Cas tree topper, but it's hard to look away from the huge smile on the real Cas’ face. _He's a literal angel… has to be._

Lee nudges him and they start singing along together, and one of the other inmates yells about Zepp not being Christmas music — but half the rest of them pounce on the guy before Dean has to. He laughs again, then sits around the tree with everyone else as they open their presents. He's itching to get to that pool table, but it can wait — he's got a present of his own to give Cas. 

When The Sword comes in and yells that the food’s ready, thoughts of a real, decent meal almost deter him, but he sneaks into his room and grabs the small, newspaper-wrapped gift from under his mattress and catches Cas before he heads to the kitchens. “Hey… uh… Merry Christmas, Angel.” He hands him the small, metal wings he welded from scrap parts with Gad’s help and smiles sheepishly, knowing it doesn't compare. 

“Dean…” Cas says softly, turning them over in his hand. “These are gorgeous. Thank you.”

“Definitely feels fitting now. I mean look at all this... you’re... somethin else, Cas.” Dean shifts, smiling small and wishing Cas could understand how much he means it. 

Just as Cas is opening his mouth to say something else, the devil himself interrupts. “Guys… food. Now.”

Cas frowns, but slides the wings into his pocket. “I made extra pie. Come on.”

“Awesome.” Dean bumps him softly and then goes to sit, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

There's ham, potatoes, stuffing, sweet bread, and vegetables Dean doesn't give a shit about laid out for them, and the guards actually serve them themselves. Cas brings Dean and Lee their plates and sets them down. “Eggnog, water, or coke?”

“Is the ‘nog spiked? Otherwise, a coke.” Dean winks and clicks his tongue. “Thanks, Angel. Looks awesome.”

Lee asks for an eggnog and Cas leaves, coming back a few minutes later with the drinks. “Whenever you're done eating, Michael has the pie. You’re free to do whatever you'd like after that until lights out.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean digs in happily, stopping to make a face at Lee when he drinks eggnog. “Gross.”

“Hey, it reminds me of home. Fuck off.” Lee holds his glass out with a grin. “Just drink, brother. This is the best night we've ever had here.”

“Yeah? Glad I was able to be here for it. I’ve never had a Christmas. Or... I guess I did from like 1-4, but since I was 4, nothin’. This feels good.”

They finish eating, and Michael yells that the pie is ready. Dean is first in line and asks for two slices, but walks over by Cas as soon as he gets them. “Hey, uh... anyone here have a guitar? I figure it’s a fat chance, but I’m feeling good right now and I was thinking I could play everyone a song. I only know one, but... it’s a Christmas one, so... I dunno... never mind,” he finishes with a blush. 

“We do, actually. Hold on.” Cas disappears, coming back out with an Ovation. “Will this work?”

“Uh.. yeah actually. Perfect, thanks. Pie first, then I’ll embarrass myself with that.” He beams as he eats his pie, loving the soft look on Cas’ face. 

Lee nudges him. “Need a backup singer?”

“Yeah? We can probably do a few songs. Can you play? I only know one or two on the guitar and the second song I never got to learn all the way, so if you can take over the guitar after the first song, that’d be awesome.”

It's an easy agreement, so once everyone’s done eating, Cas directs them back to the rec area and dims the overhead lights so the decorations stand out better. “It's a shame we don't have a fireplace, hm?”

The Trickster bowls through them and heads for the TV, turning on one of those Yule log channels and muting it. “Problemo solved.”

Dean’s a little nervous, but he sets up with the guitar in his lap. “Alright, so I’m just doin’ one song here then Lee is gonna take over the guitar and we can all sing some gay shit together.” He clears his throat. “Alright, here’s _Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”_

The chatter ceases the second Dean starts to sing, and it takes Lee a little bit to join in. Cas watches him with an expression that sure looks a helluva lot like love, and by the time he's done, grown men are crying remembering the families they left behind. 

“Shit... m’sorry fellas. Didn’t mean to be a downer,” he says, ignoring the fact that he did the same thing to himself. “Lee, let’s get everyone happy. Here.” He hands him the guitar and sits next to him, his eyes pulled to Cas like a magnet. 

Lee strums the beginning notes of _The Christmas Song_ and Dean only screws up the lyrics once, then immediately goes into _Folsom Prison Blues_ by Johnny Cash and the mood instantly shifts.

It’s nice to see everyone smiling and singing along, and for a little while, they all forget all the bullshit and just enjoy the night. Once his untrained voice is raw, he sneaks over by Cas and bumps him softly. “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles softly at him. “If I'd have known you could sing, I'd have gotten you a microphone for Christmas instead of a turntable.”

“Nah. I don’t sing often. It’s just... Christmas.” He shrugs. “Turntable will get used daily. Thanks for that... really. Thanks for all of this. Haven’t felt this good in... shit. Ever.”

“I’m glad you're having a good night. I thought this place could use a little holiday cheer, though… I have to admit, I'm surprised I got my br—” Cas clears his throat — “my brothers in arms to help.”

“Brothers in arms.” Dean chuckles. “Guess this _is_ a war zone, huh?” He briefly tells him about his dad’s experience in the military, but the topic threatens to derail his mood again so he moves on quickly. “I didn’t see you singing, Angel. I wanna hear it.”

The Trickster comes up between them and wraps his arms over their shoulders. “Ohh, you don't wanna hear that. Sounds like a buncha cats tryna claw an old lady to death. However, if you're lookin’ for a way to occupy his mouth…” He points up above their heads to a cluster of mistletoe that definitely wasn't there two minutes ago.

Dean huffs a laugh and shoves him off softly. “Yeah, see… tried that and got told to leave. Kinda not ready to be sent to my room again.” He avoids Cas’ eyes because he knows that was childish, but he couldn’t stop his stupid mouth from talking.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, pushing between them to leave, but now Cas won't look at him, either.

“I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have done that.”

He's not sure if Cas meant kissing him or kicking him out, but he doesn't get a chance to ask — the lights dim for real to signal it's almost lights out, and Cas moves away to usher everyone to bed.

“Guess the night’s over, anyway.” He walks by Cas and whispers, “Shoulda just kissed you again,” then walks to his dorm with a small grin. 

~~~~

He doesn't see Cas again until his next SAA meeting, and by this point, he's antsy as hell about it. Cas sits down to start and looks around, jotting down the attendance. “I'm sorry to those of you who have tried to reach out to me recently, I've been away.”

“Got a boyfriend, Thursday?” a man named Garrett asks in a teasing tone, and it makes Dean’s concerned eyes shoot up at Cas with a small frown on his face. 

“No, I don't. I was away on business, not personal matters.” Cas glances up at him and then to the others. “Does anyone else have a question like that, or can we move on?”

“Yeah, what kinda business?” Dean asks.

Cas blinks, looking like he's not sure what to say to that. “That's personal.”

“But I thought it _wasn't_ personal?” he quips, biting back a grin. 

The sigh Cas lets out is worth it, but then he raises his eyebrow. “You said the last time we were here that you'd made a connection you weren't quite ready to talk about. Care to elaborate?”

Dean squirms a little after the eyebrow, and since he’s still feeling bold, he decides to play. “Sure. I have like a— a school girl crush on someone. Y’know... I write his name in the corner of my notebook and shit... little hearts around it. But he doesn’t want me. I mean... his dick wants me, that’s for sure — I've seen it wants me — but... maybe it’s my personality? Maybe I’m just not likable beyond anything but fucking. Either way... nothin’ new to report.”

“I thought your boytoy moved on?” Garrett asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Isn't he with that giant kid now?”

If Dean thought Cas would stop the conversation, he was wrong. “Who?” Dean looks over, completely confused, but the word “giant” makes it click. “Oh, him? Nah. Not him. Don’t be nosey and try to guess. It’s _personal,”_ he says with a look back at Cas. “It's personally personal.”

“Right.” Cas taps the clipboard and picks on someone else, but his eyes keep finding their way back to Dean. 

Dean actually never looks away. He hears people speaking, but none of them matter — he just watches Cas. How he moves, his tongue as it slides across his lips before he speaks. The way his face turns when the person he’s talking to says something intriguing. He's beautiful in ways Dean wishes he wasn't. 

Eventually, Cas has to break up an argument between two of the older members of the group when they start bickering about which one of them has gone longer without sex. It sounds a lot like they're just mad they're not getting off, and it takes Cas a full five minutes to get them to actually shut up. “Enough,” he says coldly.

“Yeah,” Garrett chimes in. “None of us are getting laid, you don't see us mad about the floor being on the floor and shit.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head, returning his eyes where they belong — back on Cas. “Sounds like some of you need to just fire off some knuckle-children.”

“Some _what?”_ Cas asks, his brows furrowing.

“Y’know... playin’ pocket pool? Tug of war with the cyclops? Lubin’ the tube? Spankin’ the monkey? Choking the chicken? C’mon, Thursday.” He does the jerk off motion, complete with an explosion. 

“No one should be choking any chickens,” Cas scolds, but smiles slightly nonetheless. “That constitutes a violent crime.”

“You better add some time then, Angel. I’ve jerked it twice just since we been here tonight.”

Garrett scoffs. “Didn't know you had a microdick, Winchester. Must be nice that it's so small you can flick it like a clit and no one notices.”

Dean laughs, because he isn’t worried about his dick size in the slightest. “You wanna see it or somethin’?”

“No, he doesn't,” Cas answers for him. “Garrett, we've talked about you projecting like this. I understand your self-consciousness, but we've discussed tools and healthier coping mechanisms than passing your perceived shortcomings off on others.”

It's said so damn seriously that Dean’s probably the only one that hears it for the dig it is, and he looks down, biting back his response because none is necessary after that. 

“I think that's enough for today,” Cas says as Garrett shuts up and stares at his feet. When everyone gets up including Dean, Cas stops him and waits until the others are past. “Would you mind coming to my office? It's not mandatory, you're allowed to say no. It's… _personal,”_ he adds with a slight smile. 

Dean motions toward the door with a cheeky grin. “Sure. Lead the way, _Officer Personal.”_

Cas avoids talking to everyone else as they make their way to his office, and once the door shuts behind them, he looks nervous. More nervous than Dean’s ever seen him, anyway. “Dean… will you be honest with me if I'm honest with you?”

“Yeah. Kinda already told you everything about myself but yeah. Ask away.”

“Not… everything,” Cas says quietly. “Here’s me being honest… I know you're a hunter. A real hunter, and not of animals.”

Dean takes a step back with fear flashing in his eyes for a moment — but figures maybe Bobby spilled the beans. “So, what… you think I'm crazy now or something?”

“No. I don't think you're crazy, Dean. I've… I've known who you were from the moment you first transferred here, I just wanted you to be able to tell me naturally.” Cas shifts, looking so damn nervous that it takes a lot of the fear out of Dean. 

“Huh. Well this ain't natural, buddy, so what changed? Got a ghost problem or somethin’?”

Cas blinks. “No, not exactly. I just… need to be honest with you, and I wanted you to understand that I know who you are, and I'm not afraid. I'm hoping you'll feel the same."

 _What the…_ “Cas, what the hell are you talking about?”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips like he's fighting himself. “Who were you talking about? Tonight, at the meeting.”

Dean huffs a laugh and runs a hand down his face, confused as hell but also a little grateful for the change in subject. “You, dumbass.” He’s a little embarrassed for having to say it so plainly. “My turn. How’d it make you feel?”

“Honestly? Parts of that made me want to spank you, which I'll admit was an almost-forgotten sensation for me. But mostly… it made me want to kiss you again.” Cas fidgets with his hands for a moment and then walks over to close the blinds. “But I need to tell you something first, something I don't think you're going to react well to.”

He doesn’t get to even focus on the feelings he got inside when Cas said he wanted to spank him before his smile fades and he shifts on his feet. _Guess we’re back to topic number one._ “Um... alright. Guess this is that other shoe?”

“It doesn't have to be, but yes. My assumption is that you'll take it like that.” Cas pulls off his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “And no, this isn't where I force you to trade sexual favors for anything at all, I just know you won't believe me if I tell you, so I have to show you. I'm not going to touch you, nor will I hurt you. Please understand that.”

“Kinda scarin’ me, Cas,” Dean admits honestly, still feeling as if he could be open with him despite the sudden, bizarre ass shift.

He stops completely, holding out his palms and sucking in a breath. “There just... there is no good way to do this, and I'm sorry. But I don't want anything to happen here without you knowing... that is, without you understanding... I'm sorry. I'm not really good at this part, I've never had to do this before.” He looks around like he's going to find help in the shadows. “I'm an angel, Dean.

“I know that. I call you that every day, so does everyone else.” Dean squints, not seeing at all where this is going.

Cas looks exasperated. “No. I mean… yes, I realize you do, but I'm serious, Dean. I'm an Angel of the Lord. It's not just a nickname. The others are too, they're archangels. My brothers.”

Dean stands there for the longest minute ever, staring at him. “Angels are real? Why—” he almost asks why no one knew about them, but then he realizes he’s mostly relied on John’s journal and that asshat definitely didn’t know everything. “Are you— do you kill people?” _Is that what this is?_

He flinches. “I have, yes, but I was thrown out of Heaven almost five hundred years ago. Since then, no. You don't need to fear me, Dean. I will _never_ hurt you.”

“I asked that wrong. Have you killed _innocent_ people? Humans?”

Cas' expression doesn't change. “Yes. There was a time when I blindly followed Heaven’s orders. I don't anymore.”

Dean doesn’t know how to feel, and honestly, he just wants to leave. “Okay, so say you _aren’t_ crazy, how can you prove it and why did you need to be shirtless?”

“I… was _going_ to prove it. I had a feeling you weren't going to believe me. Bobby told me as much.” He continues pulling off his shirt and Dean gets his first look at the tattoos covering his body, but he's too worried about what's gonna happen next to focus on them. “Dean,” Cas says quietly. “I have wings. Please… you can leave if you want, just please don't scream.”

He turns slowly, revealing two slits along his shoulder blades that disappear as giant, black wings unfold from his skin as he shudders. 

Dean jumps back, falling over his side table and knocking down a few papers. “Holy fuck! Cas... Cas I—” He rushes out of the room but he doesn’t leave, just paces back and forth for a while. 

_That can't be fuckin’ real. Angels aren't fucking real. Ishim must've done more damage than Ares thought… I'm goin’ fuckin’ nuts. Right? Have to be… he…_ He runs a hand over his jaw and scratches at the stubble growing there as he continues to walk back and forth, glancing toward the door every few moments. _This is Cas. He wouldn't lie, I saw the damn wings… and fuck if that doesn't explain a thing or two._

Part of him still wants to leave just on principle alone, but he needs to know why Cas is telling him now of all times. Why he'd trust Dean with a secret like that even knowing what he does for a living. 

He steels his resolve and pushes the door open again, his heart dropping out of his ass when he sees Cas sitting on the floor with his wings drooped at his sides. Dean doesn’t speak right away. He can't. He walks over and sits across from him with his legs crossed and he scratches his head, not sure how to navigate any of this. “Sorry I left. Just uh… startled the shit outta me, honestly.”

Cas looks up to meet his eyes. “I won't hurt you. I'd rather rip these off than hurt anyone ever again, that's why I'm here. I've dedicated whatever's left of my existence to helping people, helping inmates make something of themselves. I just… didn't expect to meet you.”

“Sorry if I screwed anything up, Cas. I’m friggin good at that.” He scoots a little closer. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Dean.” Cas reaches out to take his hand. “I'm telling you this because it would be incredibly unfair of me to kiss you again without you know who — _what_ — I am... and making you leave that night was one of the most difficult things I've done in millions of years. You didn't screw anything up, you just... made me remember what it's like to _want.”_

He smiles and takes his hand. This may be fucking weird as hell, but it's still Cas, and now the constant rejection makes a lot more sense. “Okay, so... that mean I can touch your wings?” 

“You can, but again... I feel obligated to warn you that they're something of an erogenous zone for us, especially when we're attracted to the person touching them.” He blushes a little, but curls the tip of one wing toward Dean. 

Huffing a laugh and licking his lips, Dean reaches out to slide his fingers through it. “That's friggin soft, Cas.” _Still don't really believe you're an angel, but hey… hot wings are hot wings._

“I know,” he says a little breathlessly, already squirming. “If you just… tug a little bit…”

Dean tugs, and when he hears the desperate, broken moan Cas lets out, his cock actually twitches. “Cas, can I—” but he doesn’t even finish the sentence before he’s climbing in Cas’ lap and slamming their mouths together again. 

There's not an ounce of hesitation this time as Cas kisses him back, and his hands slide up under Dean’s shirt — but it disappears completely from his body like fucking magic. 

He pulls back in surprise but huffs a laugh and just dives back in. He’s no stranger to weird, magical things, but he’s never had actual sex with anything but another human. _Fuck, why do I want this so bad?_

The fact that Dean doesn't seem scared has Cas rutting up and gasping into his mouth, sucking his tongue and curling his fingers against his skin. “Cas…” Dean mumbles between kisses. “Take the rest off.” He kisses down Cas’ neck and grips his wings tighter, and Cas can't seem to do anything but moan for a moment, shaking under Dean until he loosens his grip. Cas’ eyes are unfocused and lust-blown as the rest of their clothes disappear.

They’re both hard, their cocks finding each other like magnets, and Dean rolls his hips when he sees how big Cas’ is. “Fuck... Cas…”

“Dean…” Cas pulls him into another messy kiss and strokes them both, his hips rolling as they slide together. 

Something sweet smelling and slick touches Dean’s hand as he pulls them closer together, but he can't even find the words to ask what it is. He's too far gone. “Cas… too… close. Need you.”

Instantly, Cas lets go of their cocks and lifts Dean’s hips, lining himself up and pulling Dean down with no prep at all. “Oh sh— Cas!” Dean tenses at first, thinking Cas is about to rip him open, but as he sinks down, all he feels is warmth and pleasure that spreads through his whole body. “Caaasss,” he moans, his eyes closing in bliss.

“You're so good, Dean, so beautiful, so… you're so tight,” Cas mumbles, kissing him again and spreading his cheeks as he starts to thrust up. “Such a good boy.”

Dean whimpers, gripping his wings tightly because otherwise, he feels he’d float away. The praise makes him want to curl up in Cas’ lap until the end of time, protected by those gorgeous wings. “Cas... I— thank you,” he whispers.

That broad hand wraps around his cock again and Cas starts to stroke, just rolling his hips to stay buried deep and locking eyes with Dean. “You're incredible. Don't thank me. Just let me take care of you, you deserve it.” 

“CasI'mgonna—” he rushes out, but he’s able to hold off a few seconds longer — “T— Tell me I can come!”

Cas leans in to suck on his neck as he keeps that same pace, speaking into his mind as that scent gets a little stronger: _“Come for me, Dean. Let go. I've got you.”_

“Ah fu—” Dean doesn't have a chance to be startled this time, he feels too damn good — and when he comes, he thinks he might black out. It feels like his orgasm is never gonna end, and by the time it does, Cas’ stomach is covered. 

“Good, good boy. You’re so…” Cas tips his head back, bliss forcing his eyes to flutter closed as he rocks up a little harder, running his hand through the mess and bringing it to his lips to lick it off. _“Wings…”_

Dean slots his fingers inside the mass of soft feathers and tugs, moaning Cas’ name the second he feels his warm come fill him up. Cas leans forward with his head against Dean’s chest, both arms wrapped around him now and holding him close as he rides out his orgasm, and Dean’s ass is overflowing with it by the time he's done. 

From here, Dean can see the oil all over the wall and sliding down Cas' back, but gets distracted as Cas kisses his neck again. Dean bares his neck with a happy sigh. “What's that stuff coming out of your wings? Do they come too?”

“That's not funny,” Cas growls quietly, biting him gently enough that it still feels good, but hard enough to make a point. “But I suppose you're not wrong.” He sighs and leans back to look at him. “It's technically for grooming, but… it also has other uses. And there just happens to be a lot of it when… someone like you touches me. Do you understand why I needed to tell you what I was first?”

“Yeah. Your wings just comin’ out without warning might have freaked me out a bit. Can I —” Dean licks his lips — “can I groom them for you or whatever?”

Cas' eyes widen a little and he smiles, leaning in to kiss him. “Soon. One thing at a time.”

“Mmhm.” Dean kisses back, rolling his hips to tease him. 

Cas moans, still hard as he wraps his wings around him to cocoon them. “I've wanted you since the moment you set foot here.”

“Yeah?” Dean lifts up and slides back down. “I wanted you too, Cas. You made me wait,” he chuckles as he repeats the motion.

It earns him a groan this time, and Cas’ hands tighten around Dean's hips but he doesn't try to stop him. “I didn't want you to think I was like them.”

“I knew you weren’t. I also knew I’d be hooked.” Dean rides him so slowly it’s borderline painful, but he keeps it up, loving that they’re able to sort of talk while fucking. 

“And are you?” Cas asks, rolling his hips up just as slowly. “Hooked?”

“Fuck yeah. Stop friggin leavin’.” Dean huffs a laugh and speeds up a little, his cock beginning to harden. 

Cas wraps his hand around Dean’s cock again and sends a pulse of something fucking incredible through it with a small smirk. “You won't even notice I'm gone.”

“Cas!” He was going to ask him to elaborate, but he’s too far gone now, full on riding Cas and leaking in his fist. “Whatisthat?” he rushes out.

“Grace, Dean. That's me.” He does it again, urging him faster with his other hand, then moves suddenly, flipping them and laying Dean down with one of his wings tucked under him for comfort. He thrusts hard, leaning down to kiss him, and Dean’s a goner. 

He moans desperately into Cas’ mouth, and every inch of his body feels as if it’s humming — which only gets better when Cas pins him to the floor and elongates his thrusts. 

“Dean…” Cas kisses his chest and fucks him harder as his eyes flash some kind of electric blue. “Come for me.”

 _Fucking hell!_ He comes instantly at the command laced in that voice, his body quivering under Castiel’s as he adds to the mess he already made. “Sofuckinggood! Fuck!” He struggles to catch his breath, but loses it again instantly when Cas fills him up again. 

The come-down has him sleepy, happy and warm, and he mutters something that comes out incoherent as he starts to drift off to sleep. He feels soft lips pressing against his temple as he's lifted off the ground… and not much else after that. 

He's _out._

~~~~

Dean wakes up the next morning back in his bed with no memory of actually getting there. He sits up, surprised when he's not sore at all — and then wonders if what happened last night was just a dream. He touches his neck and can feel the tenderness of the hickey Cas left and smiles to himself. _Wasn't a damn dream._

He dresses quickly and heads down to breakfast to find him, but Cas is nowhere to be found. He scarfs down his food anyway and makes small talk with Lee, trying to avoid the subject of where he was for so long last night. Not knowing where Cas is or if they're supposed to be a secret has him kinda cagey, but Lee takes it as just typical winter stir-craziness and doesn't press much.

As soon as he's fed, he heads over to the garage and Gad greets him with a grin. “You ready to fix up that Hellcat? I think you've earned it, and all the vans are caught up for now.”

“Hell yeah!” Dean’s mood is lifted and he rubs his hands together excitedly. _Pie for Christmas, bomb ass dick last night, Hellcat today? Best week ever._ He walks over to the Hellcat and starts talking to her. 

Gad laughs, snapping him with a grease towel. “I think you've been in here too long, you're going crazy.”

“Nah... I’ve always been crazy. Man, I miss my car. Used to talk to her more than other people.” He starts wrenching with a smile, wondering if she's in an impound lot somewhere or already auctioned off. He's honestly not sure which would be worse.

“Fair enough,” Gad says, picking up his own tools and working under the hood. “I don't think it needs much… just the motor swapped and a good once-over. Between the two of us, I bet we’ll have it road-worthy again by the end of the week.”

“Wish I could take it for a drive. That’s how I’d really know she was ready.”

He nearly smacks himself in the face with the wrench when it slips, but ducks out of the way just as Gad lets him down. “You'll just have to take my word for it.”

Dean shakes his head with a sigh and goes back to work, daydreaming about Cas. He loses himself in fixing that motor, the motions soothing to him after everything that's happened — but just as he's getting in the groove, he gets abruptly pulled out of it by the lockdown sirens. 

He scrambles out from under the car as Gad looks up at the flashing red lights. “What the…?”

“Lock down? Think it’s a drill?” Dean asks, walking to the sink to wash his hands. 

Gad shakes his head and walks to the toolbench, unlocking the bottom drawer and pulling out a long, pointy silver blade. “No. We’re in the garage, none of the lockdowns should reach us here. This is for the entire prison, which means someone got out. Stand behind me, Dean.”

“Behind you?” Dean moves closer, but keeps looking back at the door. “You think they’d come here?”

He moves the rest of the way in front of Dean and pushes him back. “It depends on who it is. There are demons in this prison, Dean. Powerful ones.”

“You mean that metaphorically, right?” Dean yells, trying to look around to find another one of those swords.

Gad barely glances his way. “No, Dean. You're a hunter, right? Real demons. Bad ones.” 

“Fuck! Do you have salt?” Dean tries to remember the damn exorcism spell, and of course, he can’t. 

Gad’s halfway through telling him that salt won't work with these particular demons when the door leading back into the main part of the prison blows clear off its hinges. “Cain,” Gad hisses, shoving Dean backward and muttering something incoherent — but just as he charges forward and swings his blade, Cain _blinks_ and light erupts around Gad. He screams, his back arching until he falls to the ground, and all Dean can see through the smoke is an imprint of angel wings surrounding him. 

“Goddamnit!” Dean grabs a piece of sharp metal and holds it to defend himself, knowing damn well it isn't going to do any good against a demon that can smite angels. “What’d you do to him?!”

“Oh, got him out of the way.” Cain stalks forward, jerking his head and sending the makeshift weapon flying across the room, leaving him defenseless again. “Are you Dean Winchester?”

“Nah, never heard of him. Try the garage over,” he says flippantly, trying to act like he isn’t about to piss himself — but he's pretty sure that's obvious. 

Cain's eyes flash black as he steps closer. “I can smell your fear.” He closes the distance and reaches out, wrapping his hand around Dean's throat. “Even if it's not you, I don't care. You're all the same, you all... took him,” he hisses, squeezing tightly enough to lift Dean off his feet.

“Took... who?” he chokes out, trying to kick and punch his way out of his grip. Nothing is working, so he jabs both thumbs into his eyes in an attempt to get him to let go.

He barely seems to notice — but he flings Dean across the room and he slams into the wall so hard it cracks. Every inch of his body hurts and he tries to get to his feet, holding out a hand in defense. “Why are you doing this? I don’t even know you!”

“Of course you do!” he booms, twisting his hand in the air until Dean starts coughing blood. Cain reaches him just as he's doubling over and kicks him. “Castiel was _mine —”_ he kicks again — “until you pathetic little humans gave him something to live for.”

Dean curls inside himself in excruciating pain. He cries out Cas’ name and spits more blood. “He ga—” he coughs some more — “He gave _me_ something to live for. Not... the other... way around.” He growls in frustration as more blood comes up. “He was never yours.” _And if I die here, he’ll never be mine, either._

“He was mine for longer than you can imagine,” he spits, picking Dean off the floor by his throat. There's sheer, unrelenting hatred in those eyes, and Dean knows he's done for — right up until he hears the best sound in the world.

“No, Cain. I wasn't. Put him down.” Castiel’s voice is laced with thunderous command, and Cain drops Dean as he turns to face him.

Dean grunts as he lands, crawling away from Cain slowly. He can see Cas through the blood running down his face and he worries for him, not knowing how strong he is — but those wings spread wide and his eyes flash, and Dean gets the idea pretty quick that Cas isn't someone to fuck with. 

Cain narrows his gaze, taking a step in. “Look at him. Look at how weak he is. You choose that?!”

“He's not weak, Cain. And that has always been your problem.” Cas walks straight up to him, unflinching. “You look at humans and see nothing but their physical shortcomings. I look at them and see hope. Life. Love. And yes. I choose him. I will _always_ choose him.” He mutters something in a language Dean’s never heard, and the shackles still attached to Cain’s wrists glow with strange sigils. 

“Enough!” Cain screams, trying to shove the shackles from his wrists, but they won't budge. Cas extends his palm out with a deadly expression and continues speaking that strange language, and the Sword and the Trickster step in a moment later. Cain snarls, turning and hurling himself at Dean — but the Trickster does too, and they disappear into thin air before Dean can even shield his face. 

Cas runs to Dean, yelling for Michael to go help the others, and drops to his knees. A warm sensation floods Dean’s system and he feels himself coming to, coughing and spitting up the last of the blood. “Cas,” he whimpers, reaching out for him. 

“Shh, Dean. It's okay. You're okay.” Cas pulls him in, cradling him on the ground and kissing his head. “You're okay.”

He slowly starts to feel better and that's when he realizes Cas is healing him. When he finally has the strength, he kisses him and clings to his neck, and Cas lifts him up off the floor with ease. “Hold on, Dean. Just hold on.”

They head back through the prison as the alarm continues to blare, and the flashing lights make it hard for Dean to make much of anything out. He’s grateful for that — he'd rather not see the look on other inmates’ faces when they see him being bridal carried by a guard. 

Dean hangs on even though he can tell it isn’t necessary. Cas has him, and he’d never drop him. That thought alone has some of the terror he was feeling receding, but his instincts won't let him completely relax. Especially when he still doesn't really understand what just happened. “How many people did he hurt?”

The sadness coming off of Cas is so strong that Dean can _feel_ it as they step into his dorm. “Two. An inmate and Gadreel. I think Michael was able to get to Lee in time, but I don't know yet.” 

“Lee?!” Dean tries to sit up, but his body still aches, so he lays down on Cas’ bed but keeps his arms around him. The thought of Lee lying dead somewhere like Gad has his chest tightening and anger coursing through his veins, but he knows he's no match for Cain. Not without a weapon. 

“I sent Michael to help him, he’ll be okay, Dean.” Cas tries to get up, but Dean grabs his arm — hating how vulnerable he's being, but the thought of Cas leaving again isn't one he likes. 

“Please don’t go anywhere.”

Cas looks conflicted, but sits on the bed next to him and touches his face. “Dean, I have to. I have to find out how this happened. I won't leave the prison, and I'll be right back.”

He nods, leaning into the touch and sighing. “Check on Lee please? Just… just make sure Michael healed him?”

“It'll be my first stop. I'm so sorry this happened, Dean. He was supposed to be guarded.” He kisses him gently and then stands, holding onto his hand until he steps far enough away that it drops. “Just stay here, I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Dean cuddles into the pillow and closes his eyes, hoping Cain is dead or at least back in his cell. _How the hell did he even get out?_

The memories of his entire stay threaten to drown him. It takes pretty much all he's got to stay awake and alert and _not_ let those thoughts drag him down, but it seems like Cas is gone for a really long time. So long that Dean starts to fear Cain got to him.

When he finally does come back, he closes the door and crawls onto the bed with Dean. “Lee is alive. Michael brought him back,” he says softly, running a hand through Dean’s hair. “And Cain is back where he belongs. You're safe, Dean. He can't hurt you now.”

“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbles, exhaustion finally tugging at him now that Cas is back. “Can I stay here?”

Cas lets out his wings and pulls Dean in, wrapping him up tightly. “Of course you can. I'll be here when you get up, alright?”

“Mmm.” He hums and closes his eyes, relaxing into his warm wings. He's not sure why he's so tired, but blames it on the fact that for the first time in his life, not a single part of his body hurts. “Love you, Cas,” he mumbles.

Dead silence meets him for a couple of seconds, but as he fades out, he's pretty sure he hears Cas say it back. 

~~~~

The next couple of weeks are a blur, and Cas keeps disappearing at random times. Cain stays where he's at, which is nice, but The Devil's gone too, and no one seems to be telling Dean anything.

Lee nudges Dean at breakfast. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Course. It’s just... energy is weird in this place since Cain. And friggin Cas keeps disappearin’.”

He nods, taking a bite and chewing slowly. “Yeah, that's weird for him. I tried to ask Trickster but he wouldn't tell me anything. Thursday missed my final exam the other day, and he never misses those.”

Dean licks the corner of his mouth and frowns. Lee’s right, that doesn't sound like Cas at all — but before he can say so, Lee nods over his shoulder. “Found him.”

“Awesome,” he mutters, getting up and pushing Cas back out of the cafeteria and toward his dorm. 

The second they're inside, Cas tilts his head. “Are you alright? Did something else happen?”

“Where have you been goin’? I thought after Cain you’d stay, but what the hell. Are you... seeing someone else?”

Cas blinks, genuine surprise crossing his face. “Am I… no, Dean. I'm not seeing someone else. I was actually just coming to get you… I need you to stay in here for roughly three minutes and don't make a sound, and I'll be back to get you. Everything will make sense after, I promise.”

“The hell, Cas,” Dean starts, but Cas kisses him quickly. 

“I promise. Three minutes.” He ducks out of the room, leaving Dean to pace and wonder why the hell he can't ever seem to properly yell at him even when he's mad. _Maybe those damn anger management things are working._

Cas returns a couple of minutes later and shuts the door, holding a pair of jeans, an undershirt, a flannel and a pair of boots. “Here, change into these. Hurry.”

“What’s happening?” He does as told, changing right there with a worried expression. He feels a million times better in his old clothes and he can’t help but smile, but as always, it's guarded.

The sound of keys draws his attention as Cas pulls a pair out of his pocket and hands them to him. “Take these, it's about time they're returned to you.”

“Baby?” He looks at them and then back at Cas. “What am I supposed to do with keys?”

Cas simply smiles. “Typically, you use them to drive. You're free, Dean, but we should go quickly. I'll explain on the way. Just… try not to look directly at anyone while we walk out,” he says cryptically as he slaps a visitor’s badge on Dean's chest. 

“Um… Cas?” Dean asks almost sarcastically, not moving. “I can't —”

“Go, Dean.” Cas opens the door and tugs him out into the hall, then gently shoves him forward. 

Dean keeps his head down, thinking there’s no friggin way this works. They pass inmates and guards, but none of them even seem to recognize him or pay him a second glance. The closer they get to the exit, the higher Dean’s hopes soar — and when he finally walks outside, he has to shield his eyes. “How’d you—” The sight of Baby distracts him completely, and the smile he gets is contagious. 

“Just drive, Dean,” Cas urges, smiling just as wide as he gets in. 

“Cas, this is... fuck. I love you.” He kisses him and then starts her up, palming himself as the engine purrs. 

“That's where I've been going, Dean. To all of the places you didn't cover your tracks well enough. Not one precinct has a record of you ever being arrested now, and no officers or agents remember your name. You're free.”

Dean slams on the brakes and throws the car in park, then jumps over into his lap and kisses him heatedly. He wants to say thank you, but he can’t form the words to pull it off.

They're barely a half-mile from the prison, but Cas laughs, smiling against his lips and wrapping his arms around him. “You never deserved to be in there, Dean. You're a good man, a _great_ man, and the world is better when you're doing what you're best at. You'll never see the inside of a prison again.”

“Thank you. Cas... what about you? Will you come with me? Please?” He doesn’t want to be set free without his angel, he knows he'll just end up back in the same shitty spot he was in to begin with.

Cas blinks. “Dean… do you… do you understand what I went through to make this happen? Of course I'm coming with you.” He kisses him again, more heatedly this time, and runs his hands down Dean’s body to his ass. 

“Fuck... okay, okay. Let’s go before they realize or somethin’.” He climbs back into the driver’s side and starts driving. “Where to, Cas? I never had a home before prison.”

He pulls the map from the glove box and unfolds it, then sets it between them. “Bobby’s. He actually said something about knowing a place we can stay… some sort of bunker? But we need the key. I'd have just gotten it myself, but he wants to see you.”

“Bobby. That old bastard.” Dean grins and puts up the music, driving to Bobby’s happily. They don't talk much on the drive — Cas seems to realize that Dean just needs time with that open window and the open road, but just knowing Cas is with him is enough. 

He really is free.

~~~~

“Dean! C’mere, boy.” Bobby pulls him into a hug and claps his back, laughing as he pulls back. “Ain't you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Hey, I’m friggin adorable, what can I say?” He chuckles and winks at Cas, then nods to Bobby. “So I take it you two have met?”

Cas huffs. “Yes, he tried to trap me when I came to visit him. Luckily for me, his Enochian was a little rusty.”

“What the hell do I look like to you, a damn prophet? We don't even know you lot _existed,_ let alone how to draw a proper angel trap.” Bobby shakes his head with a laugh, then heads for the couch — which Cas pointedly avoids. 

Dean plops down next to him with a groan and stretches. “Is this how retirement feels, old man? Cause I gotta say… it’s nice.”

Bobby scoffs. “Retirement? Who do you think has been runnin' all over this damn country doing _your_ job while you were behind bars?”

Dean laughs but shakes his head. “It was no cakewalk, Bobby. Demons I get, but humans?” He makes a _pfft_ noise and sits back again, kicking his feet up. 

“Well, you're not wrong.”

They bullshit for a while and Bobby eventually gets up, bringing a weird looking key to Dean. “Your feathered boyfriend over there knows where it's at, but this is for a bunker. Used to be used by the Men of Letters, and your dad’s dad was one of 'em. Figure it's not a bad place to lay low just in case that angel mojo doesn't take, and you'll have everything you need if you wanna keep huntin’.”

“A bunker? That’s awesome.” He asks some questions about it but Bobby doesn't seem to know much else, so they just hang out for the night and Dean enjoys being free. 

In the morning, they say their goodbyes with a promise to come back to visit soon and to send reports on what they find at the bunker, then hit the road again. 

“You think this could be home, Cas? Lebanon?”

Cas looks away from the window and nods with a smile. “I think home is wherever we want it to be.”

“C’mere, ya sap.” Dean raises his arm so Cas can curl into him as they drive, singing along to the radio and rubbing his bicep. They stay like that until they finally arrive at the bunker, but the second he parks, Cas kisses his neck. 

He hums, tilting his head to give Cas better access. “Mm. More.”

The next thing he knows, they're naked in the backseat and Cas is feverishly kissing his way down Dean’s body. “I'm sorry. I can't wait.”

“Good. Want you here _and_ in there.” Dean pulls Cas back up and sits him down, then climbs onto his lap facing the front of the car and lines him up. “Do that mojo thing, Cas.”

Thick hands pull him down until he's split open on Cas’ cock, and he leans back against his chest, turning his head to kiss him. Cas rocks up, reaching around to stroke him as he sucks on his tongue. _“So good, Dean.”_

_“Cas... fuck, I love your cock... love everything about you.”_

_“I love you.”_ He plants his feet and thrusts up harder, using one hand to keep Dean steady as the other speeds up. Cas breaks the kiss to watch with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Ah fuc—Ca— so—” None of his sentence attempts take, and he’s just a moaning, groaning mess as he bounces on Cas’ perfect cock. “Can— come— please…”

Another one of those tingly, awesome waves pulses through Dean’s entire body, making his toes curl as Cas’ cock throbs inside of him. “Come for me, Dean. Come with me.”

He slams up into him, and they release at the same time — Cas in Dean’s tight ass, and Dean all over their thighs. 

“Holy shit,” Dean sighs happily. “Better every time and I always think it _can't_ get better.”

Cas kisses his shoulder with a soft chuckle. “Get used to it. I'm just starting to learn your body. Imagine what I'll be able to do to you in five years.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “I'm just happy you even wanna be around that long. Everyone else can only handle me in small doses.”

“I told you a long time ago I'm impossible to please,” Cas says teasingly. “I guess that means I just require really _large_ doses.”

They get cleaned up and get out of the car, then spend the next couple of hours rooting through the bunker. It'll take decades to go through all of the books and weapons, but it's more than adequate for what they need. 

Cas leans against the doorframe as Dean checks out more of the weapons. “You'll keep hunting?”

“I mean... I didn’t want to while in there, but I’m already thinking about all the people who need help. How am I supposed to just... retire?”

“You're not,” he says softly. “I won't. I'd like to keep working at the prison to help the others, and a big reason why I got you out was so you could keep hunting. This is what you're supposed to do, Dean. But I don't think it should be the _only_ thing you do, anymore. Your GED is real, that wasn't some angel trick. And your talent with motor vehicles is real, too. You could get a job at the garage we passed in town. We can go to work during the day like normal people…. and hunt at night. Together.”

“Yeah?” Dean really likes the sound of that and he nods. “Let's do that... together.” He takes his hand and kisses it, making Cas’ eyes soften around the edges. 

He pulls him in and kisses him deeply, then lets his wings out and wraps him up. “I'm sorry that I didn't find you sooner, Dean. I couldn't stop the things that happened to you before, but I promise you now. I will do everything I can to keep you safe and make you happy.”

Dean wants to believe him so badly it's insane, but there's still a nagging voice in the back of his head that says one day, Cas will wise up and leave. “What about all the bad shit I did, though? The stuff you tried to put me in meetings and shit for… and all the…” He trails off, thinking about the things Cas must've discovered about him while trying to wipe his slate clean. 

“All of your sins?” Cas shakes his head, planting kisses to each side of his mouth. “I'm the Angel of Thursday, Dean. Consider them absolved.”


End file.
